A Band of Travelers
by Crimson Bttrfly
Summary: One choice can transform everything. As unrest surges in the Rukon Districts, an unlikely band of Shinigami must restore the balance. Or die trying. [ByakuyaxHisana, Kaien Shiba, Gin Ichimaru]
1. Friends

**Author's Note:** I do not own nor claim to own any rights to Bleach or the characters found therein.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Friends**

Kaien sat casually on a large knotted branch. His muscles eased. One by one, the tension in his neck and back diminished, a sweet gentle release. He inhaled a deep breath and settled against the wood. In one hand, he held a freshly plucked apple; its sticky juices ran down his arm in small rivulets. In the other, he balanced a sheet of parchment between his index and middle fingers. The paper was slick and thin, easily catching on a sudden breeze.

He reached for it as it caught wind. His fingers stretched into the cool breeze. It was too late. The paper escaped him.

It was of little consequence, he sighed. Just a gentle reminder to attend the next captain's meeting.

Watching the memo fly away, he leaned against the trunk of the old apple tree. Even under his layers of clothing, he could still feel the scratchiness of the bark against his skin, and, for some strange reason, it calmed his mind. Fiber by fiber, he relaxed.

No worries assailed him. The hour was far too early. The weather was far too agreeable. The world was far too serene.

It was going to be a good day. Or, so Kaien assured himself. With only his thoughts to keep him company, he sat and contemplated the changing of seasons. Autumn had conquered the violent heat of summer, ushering in temperate weather, vibrant colors, and apples.

Kaien took another bite. _Pain_. Horrible shrill shooting pain.

"How errant of you."

Kaien startled.

He knew that voice well: smooth, low, but unmistakably captious. He loathed that voice. Briefly, he wondered if the pain emanated from his tooth or from the sound of that horrible voice.

He glanced down to confirm his suspicions. "Good morning to you, too, Byakuya," he greeted. He was rather proud of himself when he heard his voice ring in his ears. He hid his displeasure well this time. It was noticeable, true, but it was not as coarse as the feeling surging through him would have liked.

Byakuya glanced up at Kaien. A slight frown tugged the corners of his lips downward. His expression soured, and he turned on his heel. Kaien's indulgence disgusted Byakuya, and the young lord never missed an opportunity to express his contempt.

Adroitly, Kaien kicked his leg over the branch and landed soundlessly on a dewy patch of grass. "What brings _you _to these parts?" he asked, trying his best to hide his own discontentment for being disturbed. Absently, he rubbed the dirt and wrinkles from his Shihakushō, and he watched the Kuchiki lord continue down a winding path.

"I have business with your captain," Byakuya stated matter-of-factly, refusing to acknowledge Kaien properly. His gaze was stubbornly set on the edifice housing the central offices. He did not miss a step.

"What kind of business?" Kaien asked conversationally, standing cross-armed beside the tree. He took another bite of his apple. _'It's the tooth,'_ he thought ruefully to himself.

Byakuya halted abruptly, and, for an instant, Kaien thought Byakuya was going to address him properly. That was not the case. Instead, the young lord's attention turned to the side. Something had pierced his concentration.

'_What now?'_ Kaien growled to himself mid-sigh. Absently, he followed the direction of Byakuya's head. A small detail of Shinigami crossed the catwalk a few meters in front of them. Leading the retinue was a young woman, clad in a plain white kimono. She spoke with a few of the men. An empathetic look creased her forehead, and she managed a conciliatory smile. _'Bad news?'_ Kaien wondered as he examined the body language of his men circling the poor female.

Kaien's eyes darted from Byakuya to the woman. His brow furrowed as his gaze made another sweep. _'Is that even possible?' _His mind immediately rejected his initial conclusion—a conclusion that would have made all the sense in the world if it had not been Byakuya. Byakuya was different. He was cold and full of hubris. The only person Byakuya was capable of admiring was _himself_.

_'It can't be.'_

The opportunity to harass the young noble, however, proved too tempting for Kaien to ignore. A grin slit his lips, and he neared Byakuya. "She's cute, eh?" he teased, elbowing Byakuya in the side.

The sudden force sent Byakuya off kilter. The young noble quickly stepped forward to regain his balancing, and, seamlessly converting one direction to another, he whipped around to face Kaien. His eyes widened, and the muscles in his face tightened. "How impudent of you to assume—"

Kaien shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Impudence—the luxury of being the second-born son," he quipped, preparing for Byakuya's oft repeated refrain of how impertinent Kaien's behavior was for a lord of one of the Five Noble Families.

"Your existence _is _pointless. I agree," Byakuya stated coolly. With a quick yank on his robes, Byakuya smoothed the wrinkles from the silk.

Kaien restrained himself from rolling his eyes again. With Byakuya, one eye roll was expected, but two was flagrant. If he did not restrain himself, it was a very real possibility that his eyes would become stuck mid-eye roll. Such a fate would not do. Not only would it be unbecoming, but Kaien relied on his eyes to function properly.

"What is _she _doing here?" Byakuya demanded. His piercing slate grey gaze returned to the woman.

Kaien's brows furrowed at Byakuya's tone. He could almost feel his neurons spark in agitation, bringing his mild annoyance to a constant simmer. He did not like being commanded by an entitled brat. Unlike the others, even those who knew better, he refused to indulge the young lord. He found Byakuya's behavior disgraceful. "Why? Do you know her?" For a flash, Kaien felt a pang of sympathy for the girl if she had to speak to Byakuya for any length over the course of her duties. She was a kind, gentle soul. She shouldn't have to bear such disagreeable company.

"She treats my father's consumption," Byakuya stated indifferently as he watched her.

She paused, deepening her conversation with a male Shinigami. He seemed worried, speaking quickly. His words, however, did not reach Kaien and Byakuya. He was too far away, and his voice was too hushed.

Kaien's gaze lifted to the clear blue sky. No, he did not roll them. Yes, he would have if he were a lesser man. "_She_ has a name," he muttered, shaking his head.

"She is only a peasant," Byakuya stated plainly.

Kaien blinked at the response. _'She is a peasant; therefore, she is undeserving of a name? Did he just say that? Really?'_ The reasoning was breathtaking. It was a rare event, indeed, for Byakuya's brand of conceit to be so complete. That took skill.

"Her name is Hisana, and she is here to conduct morning rounds of the sick and wounded officers, including Captain Ukitake." Kaien's gaze trailed to Byakuya, who watched her with an uneasy expression. "And, I doubt your _father _views her as _only a peasant_," Kaien chastised when his astonishment subsided.

Byakuya stirred at Kaien's harsh observation. He turned to Kaien, refining his next insult, but he stopped short.

"Good morning, Vice Captain!" Hisana called sweetly. She gave a long wave before taking a few eager strides in his direction.

"Good morning, Vice Captain," Kaien replied in kind.

At first, she only saw Kaien. Her attention was laser-focused. When she was within arm's length of the pair, however, she quickly realized her error. "Good morning, Lord Kuchiki," she said apolitically, "I did not see you standing there. Please, excuse my insolence," she added, bowing deeply.

"Miss Hisana," Byakuya murmured. He lowered his head slightly. It was a rare sign of respect from the noble.

Shocked, Kaien turned to Byakuya. _'What the hell just happened?'_ he wondered to himself. His mind was pulled in such disparate directions. For a moment, he tried to blink his confusion away. What was happening did not comport with what Byakuya had said just _moments_ before. The young lord was _clearly_ familiar with Hisana. Humble, even, which was new look for Byakuya. For a moment, Kaien took stock of his conversation with Byakuya. While Byakuya had not referred to Hisana by her name, he never indicated that he did not _know_ her name.

"May I inquire after your father?" Hisana asked softly. Diffidently, her eyes flitted up to meet his. Her brows pulled together, and she tilted her head to the left. She wore concern with the same effortlessness that Byakuya wore his bitter indifference.

"Yes, you may."

"How is he feeling?"

"His color returns."

"But not his vitality?" she noted astutely. Worry lines creased her delicate features.

Byakuya lifted his head, and his lips twitched as if he was about to respond to her question. He stopped himself, and his eyes trailed to Kaien. The source of his reticence was clear.

"Understandable," she said quickly reading his look. "How is your arm, if I may ask?" Without waiting for a response, she gently took his wrist in her hands. Her fingers were light and nimble, peeling back his sleeve and tekkou with surgical precision.

Kaien looked on in amusement. A wolfish grin curved the corners of his mouth up, and he cocked a brow. _'Unbelievable,'_ he thought to himself in an endless loop. He truly relished how uncomfortable Byakuya looked. The noble's disquiet only amplified as Hisana examined the burn wound with a caressing touch. Byakuya's cheeks turned a dark shade of pink, and his eyes fell to the ground where they remained for the rest of her examination.

Kaien wanted to laugh.

He did not. He smothered the familiar fluttering that crawled up from his chest and toward his throat. He did so for Hisana's sake, not for Byakuya's.

"It appears to be healing quite well, Lord Kuchiki," she said, glancing up at him as she smoothly tied the laces of his tekkou. "You are very strong. A wound like that would normally take weeks to heal."

Byakuya responded with a cautious gaze.

"I will be at the manor later today with more medicine for your father and an unguent for your arm. It will keep the wound free of infection."

Byakuya nodded. "Very well," he said in a strained voice. "I must be leaving," he murmured quietly. He gave her a slight bow as he dismissed himself.

A wide amused smile lengthened Kaien's face before spreading across his face. Laugh lines formed around his eyes. Once Byakuya stepped into the Captain's office, Kaien gave a small chuckle.

Hisana looked up at the Vice Captain. Confusion darkened her blue eyes. Quietly, she searched his face for the answer to his sudden fit. "Vice Captain Shiba?" she asked, giving up. "Are you well?"

Composing himself, he shook his head. "C'mon, you didn't see it?"

Her brows bent, and she cocked her head. "I don't understand." She clearly had no idea.

"Have you _actually met_ Byakuya Kuchiki?"

Hisana's eyes widened and her brow furrowed. "I have tea with Lord Byakuya every week, after I visit with his father."

"Excuse me. What?" Kaien blinked at her, uncomprehending. Her having tea with Byakuya simply did not compute. At all.

"Yes. I am _supposed_ to be tutoring him in healing kido, but he has not taken to it."

Kaien stared at her in wide-eyed confusion.

"Oh, Vice Captain, you have no place to judge the young lord. You never had love in your heart for healing."

Kaien shook his head. "No," he said, "I had no idea that you took tea with Byakuya," he said to himself. "_Every week_?" he asked incredulously. How unimaginable. Kaien could barely keep his composure with the noble when they crossed paths every _month_ or so. _Weekly _meetings with Byakuya would have been enough to induce him to resign.

"When the infirmary is not busy. Yes. After I administer treatments to Lord Sōjun, I take tea with Lord Byakuya."

"Why?" Yes, why would _anyone_ willingly do such a thing? he wondered.

"To discuss his training and kido, mostly."

That explanation seemed entirely too reasonable. The Kuchikis enlisted masters of certain disciplines to serve as tutors to Byakuya in lieu of him attending the Academy. However, there was something missing. Something was awry with her account. "He was blushing at you," Kaien observed candidly.

Pensively, she glanced up and to the left. "When I touched him?" she asked as if she was trying to recall the event.

"Yes. I believe so."

"Oh," she chuckled, "Many men blush when I touch them," she quipped, glancing up at Kaien shyly. "I don't think the soldiers know how to respond to tenderness." She smiled demurely before adding, "Or _anything_ that isn't violence, I suppose."

Kaien shot her a knowing grin. "Don't be so quick when you dismiss his affections."

The color of her face drained at the implication. "Vice Captain Shiba!" she exclaimed, "That is a rash judgment."

"Byakuya is a lot of hot air. _A lot_. Hot air probably comprises ninety percent of his entire soul," Kaien said, jokingly.

Hisana gave a shy but disapproving shake of her head. "You are too much."

"But, seriously, Byakuya is hotheaded."

Hisana concurred with a small nod. "He is young." She reframed Kaien's critique in terms that were more diplomatic.

"Undeniably young _and_ hotheaded. But, I imagine his hotheadness masks his true feelings."

Hisana's eyes flicked up, and she inhaled a small breath. Kaien could tell that she agreed with his assessment, but that she felt guilty for it. "I suppose," she said, exhaling, "his bluster stems from a lack of confidence."

"Oh, I think he has _plenty _of confidence."

Hisana shook her head. "He lacks true confidence—the kind that comes from deeds. He has not earned his pride."

"May the gods help us when he does," Kaien muttered to himself.


	2. Lovers

**Chapter 2: Lovers**

An array of glossy black-and-white portraits lined the desktop. Byakuya frowned the moment he saw the arrangement. He had been avoiding this day for _months_. His excuses, however, had finally dried up. His grandfather simply refused to entertain his appeals.

"Lord Kuchiki," his aunt greeted him with a soothing voice and a sweet glance, "we have some very lovely candidates."

Byakuya hesitantly neared the desk and glanced down. There were thirty women. Each woman had submitted two portraits. Sixty in total. Sixty sets of eyes and sixty faces stared up at him from the desk. They were all physically beautiful women. His aunt had likely pruned the herd, removing candidates who lacked certain qualities such as beauty or wit.

He sighed.

It was a pointless endeavor. He did not know the women. His training and duties as a young heir prevented him from interacting with females. With the distinct exception of the Gotei 13, noble females and men occupied different spheres. Spheres that rarely intersected, and, when they did intersect, it was an orchestrated event.

The miai was one of those orchestrated events. His family presented it as a _choice_, but it lacked the characteristics of a _choice_: His family had pre-qualified the women, meaning that there were many more hopefuls than he had a chance to examine. Then, there was the fact that he did not actually know any of the women, meaning that the only information to which he had access had been sanitized by the women's families. Regardless, he was certain that all of the women would make a respectable match. All the hopefuls possessed the requisite qualification necessary to be his wife—nobility.

"Is the young lord displeased?"

His aunt's words pulled him from his contemplation, and he realized that he was scowling. A deep dissatisfied scowl bent his mouth. He sighed lightly as he surveyed the photographs.

His aunt gently slid a picture forward. It was of a lovely woman with large bright eyes, pale skin, and long dark hair that cascaded down her shoulders. "I believe Lady Nanako would prove compatible. She is talented in haiku, and she has a keen intellect."

Byakuya's gaze wandered to the open door. Escape was so close. It was practically staring him in the face, breathing down the collar of his robes.

He could agree to the courtship, and that would be the end of it. The words were stinging his tongue, but his heart squelched them. Something stopped him, stealing his breath and steeling his mind. He knew if he consented then his fate was sealed. His father's courtship was infamously short. Sōjun selected Byakuya's mother in the winter, and, by spring, the two were wedded.

"Marriage would bring her family under our banner," his aunt continued, but her persuasive words met deaf ears.

Absently, his fingertips skated over a photograph. The woman was pretty, like the others, with small delicate features. Her eyes, however, were sad, and her smile was strained and small. She did not want to be there, taking the photo. She did not want to be his wife.

"Lady Rie," his aunt said, narrowing in on his interest, "her family is very respectable..."

His aunt's words washed over him, but his thoughts drowned them out. He wanted to be anywhere else, and his gaze betrayed him. His eyes shot over to the door. He had been giving the exit lingering looks since he arrived, but something caught his attention and kept it.

Dressed in a luscious red kimono, Hisana passed the door on her way to administer treatments to his father. Surrounding her on nearly all sides was a procession of guards and servants. Her head bent in the direction of the manor's steward. The two were in a deep discussion about something. He watched her intently. Tranquility wrapped around him, relaxing the tension in his muscles and calming his mind.

"Lord Byakuya," his aunt called sharply, breaking the spell. Her eyes narrowed, and her expression blackened. "This would go more smoothly if you concentrated," she said, enunciating her words to a fine point. If they had been daggers, they would have cut him deeply. "Would you like to see Rei's personal history?"

Byakuya exhaled a deep sigh. His eyes darted back to the door. "She is adequately beautiful, talented, intelligent, and healthy," he murmured, eying Hisana. "She has a gentle soul and a warm heart. She would be entirely appropriate if not for the fact," Byakuya paused to turn to his aunt, "If not for the fact that the family wishes me to court a noble."

"She _is_ a noble," his aunt stated. Confusion clouded her grey eyes, and she tilted her head to the side. Her gaze shot over to the door, where she observed the commotion lingering a few paces away. Cold realization flashed over her. With a look, her eyes told him that she _knew_. She _knew _what had captured the young lord's attention so completely. His gaze had betrayed him.

Byakuya shook his head. "More noble, like Nadako."

"_Nanako_," she corrected.

Byakuya's blank stare said it all. He found the exercise pointless. It was a waste of his time. There were more productive things to be doing.

Somewhere between taking a mental accounting of all the things he _could _be doing, he noticed it: His aunt leaned over close to him. Her weight shifted to one elbow, and she whispered, "I want you to look at one of these portraits the same way you look at the Vice Captain of the Fourth."

Byakuya started at her words. His aunt might as well have dumped a bucket of frigid water over his head. The resulting feeling was the same: His body went numb. He could hear the clicking of his nerves firing in his head. His heart froze for a few moments, and he felt like his body had forgotten how to breathe.

"I will not be satisfied until you do," she added with a thin wicked grin.

"She is a peasant," he protested, hoping that it would lessen her suspicion. Hisana's peasantry had proven to be an effective staying point. Whatever strange feelings she stirred in him, he easily dismissed because she would be forever out of reach. The law strictly forbade such a pairing.

"I am aware," his aunt snapped back, "which is why we need to find you an _appropriate_ mate before you do something rash."

His eyes widened at the insinuation. "Rash?" he echoed, offended.

She sighed. "This low predilection must be _redirected_ toward more sensible pursuits. We are _redirecting_." With her middle finger, she pushed Lady Nanako's portrait forward. "She comes highly recommended."

It was a veiled threat.

. . . .

Hisana lifted her sleeve back, and she tilted the teapot forward. The fragrant aroma of jasmine flooded the room. When the cup filled, she picked it up. Her hands were graceful, refined. Her movements fluttering like that of a butterfly's wings.

"Your color returns, Vice Captain" she said, pouring herself a cup of tea.

Sōjun took a small sip. The liquid was hot, inedible. He knew it was too hot, but, yet, he tried anyway—always too eager, always too hopeful. The steam from the tea warmed his cheeks, turning them a pale shade of pink. "Yes," he said after sucking in a few cool breaths. "Your treatments have made me feel much improved."

Hisana filled her mouth with tea. It was hot, but she was used to the scorching feeling. It had proved to be a faithful companion during long nights at the Fourth, keeping her awake. Swallowing, she smiled politely. "How is your stamina?"

Sōjun's thin black brows lifted at the question. He had not returned to training for a week, but he had begun to think about it. "Yes," he said after comparing his ability to fight back the urge to sleep for the last few days.

"Your appetite?" Hisana set her cup down on its saucer. Her action was nearly soundless. Only a light tinkling of porcelain against porcelain rang in the air.

"I have been eating more."

"More than okayu, I hope?"

He smiled and nodded his head. "Yes."

She returned his smile. "Good."

"I believe my son will send a servant for you at any moment," Sōjun murmured, shifting in his robes. A knowing glint lit his eyes, but it went unnoticed by Hisana. She was fussing with her medical kit.

"I have some unguent for his wound." The sound of glass bottles clinking against metal and other glass bottles partially obscured her voice.

"His wound?" Sōjun asked. Clearly, Byakuya had not informed him of any injuries. "Is he well?"

Hisana gave Sōjun a fleeting look, and she grinned sweetly up at him. "He will make a full recovery." She then continued to fish inside of her case.

"What happened?"

"Here it is," she mumbled under her breath. Her thin nimble fingers withdrew a round container of salve. "Oh," she said to herself, looking over at Sōjun as if his question had reached her on a delay, "he burned himself during a simulation."

Sōjun furrowed his brow. "During a simulation?" he asked incredulously.

She lifted her eyebrows and stared at him with wide blue eyes. Briefly, she wondered how often Byakuya confided in his father. Probably, not frequently, she guessed. She always seemed to know more about Byakuya than Sōjun did. "I believe that was his explanation. I did not confirm it, however."

"Oh," Sōjun said quietly, taking a sip of tea. He shook his head. "He may be delayed," he noted, seemingly remembering something important.

"That is quite alright," Hisana replied, fingering the container in her hand. "I can leave this with his personal servant."

Sōjun's smile dimmed. "I think Byakuya will be disappointed, then." _Disappointed_ was a generous word. Sōjun was aware of his son's affinity for the Fourth's Vice Captain. Byakuya never turned down the chance to steal a glance or a conversation from Hisana. She was likely the one soul in the entire realm that he genuinely cared for without reason or duty.

Sōjun understood his son's fascination. Hisana was young yet nubile. She was petite and delicate, but she had a world-weariness that far exceeded her years. Her eyes were bright and large like a child's, but there was a deep strength behind them. A calm sort of strength that Sōjun wished for Byakuya.

For a moment, Sōjun wondered if Hisana was aware of Byakuya's infatuation. She did not mention it either way. In fact, he would have been surprised if she suspected it at all. Hisana was an unassuming spirit. Unless Byakuya declared his undying love for the woman, Sōjun was confident that she would never even notice.

Suddenly, Sōjun prayed that his son would never do such a thing. Byakuya had his moments of succumbing to reckless ideas. But, Hisana did not deserve to have her life reduced to fodder for the scandal section of the morning paper.

A quiet rapping on the door preceded a soft voice, "Sir Kuchiki requests the Vice Captain's assistance."

Hisana smiled up at Sōjun, but she did not move. To move would have been impolite. She was nothing if not incredibly respectful. He had to dismiss her.

Sōjun waited a few heartbeats, staring into her gentle eyes. He knew his son fancied her from the moment she stepped across the manor's threshold. He knew because, if he had been Byakuya's age, he would have fancied her, too.

When Sōjun dismissed her, Hisana gracefully moved out of the room. Once outside the threshold, her hands rhythmically worked the wrinkles from the fabric of her kimono. She bowed politely at Byakuya's personal servant.

"Miss Hisana," the old man murmured softly, "it is good to see you."

"It is good to see you as well," she replied, following the old man through the winding halls. "I do not think I could ever learn this house," she whispered.

The old servant gave her a knowing sidelong glance and winked. "It is very difficult."

She smiled to herself.

When the two arrived at the young lord's study, the servant bowed politely and helped Hisana kneel before the door. The man cracked the middle joint of his index finger against the wooden frame. "Milord, Miss Hisana of the Fourth awaits your instruction."

Hisana began sliding the door back before Byakuya had the chance to command her to enter. In the proscribed manner, she opened the door and scooted on her knees into the room.

She was never good at making entrances, Byakuya noted as he watched her struggle with her kimono. And, while he would have been critical of the court ladies with similar etiquette, he found her graceless movements captivating. The more she fought against the fabric of her dress, the more his could see her small figure, catching glimpses of the lean outline of her body.

"My apologies," she murmured, bowing gracefully before him. Her arms, thin but strong, reached out in front of her. She placed her hands on the floor tentatively. Her hair fell to the sides of her face, leaving the back of her neck unguarded.

His gaze lingered on her neck for a few moments. The bones of her vertebrae formed two small bumps, and for some reason the taut milky skin covering them teased him.

When she sat up, she reached for the teapot, and poured him a cup. "Tea?" she asked, belatedly, offering the cup balanced neatly on its saucer.

Mechanically, Byakuya took the tea from her and watched her pull her sleeve up as she poured herself a cup. The vibrant red fabric against her pale skin tortured him from across the room.

Glancing up at him, she offered him a small smile. "Studying for exams?" she asked, eying the papers on his desk.

"Yes," he murmured, trying his level best to compose himself.

Her smile widened. "If you need help with the kido portion, we can practice."

The last thing he wanted was to practice with her. His ambivalence had steadily grown since she stepped through the door. He did not know why, but he could not focus. He could barely remember why she was there—why he had requested his servant to collect her from his father. "Yes," was the only sound he could make. What he was agreeing to, however, he did not recall.

She set her tea to the side, and she moved closer to him. "How is your arm feeling?" she asked.

Byakuya stared blankly ahead, trying not to let his gaze land on her. All he could think about was how her plum perfume complimented the fragrance of jasmine on her breath—her warm breath that heated his hand. When he finally mastered the courage, he looked down at her just in time to feel her knee press against his thigh. He was sure it was an accidental touch on her part, but the sensation nearly short-circuited his brain. He stared ahead, unable to process anything. When his vision returned a few seconds later, he noticed that she was sitting beside him so closely, so demurely. Her head bent down. Dark tresses fell down the sides of her face, and her thick eyelashes obscured her eyes.

Without warning, she reached out and touched him. It was an intentional touch. Her fingers, soft and cool, turned his wrist up, and, with her other hand, she pulled back the sleeve of his kimono.

He felt a spark in his chest. The spark quickly escalated into a wildfire, lighting and consuming his nerves. The familiar feeling of electric sparks crackled under his flesh. Each electric fuse set off the next in a strange chain reaction until his whole body felt like it was burning, threatening to crumble into ash.

She applied the balm to his burn, slowly, gently.

His heart began to stammer as he watched her dip her index and middle finger into the small round container of salve. She made little circles in the thick substance. Satisfied with the amount, she gently rubbed it into his wound.

Finishing, she licked her lips and glanced up at him. "Would you like to practice on me?" she asked. Her eyes were gentle, innocent, which only made him feel worse.

Byakuya stared at her, unresponsive.

"I have a small contusion," she noted helpfully. Eagerly, she lifted the sleeve to her right arm, and extended her reach to him.

Byakuya instinctively placed his hand lightly against the back of hers. Her skin was so soft, so supple. He could not imagine anything that felt better. Gently, his fingertips trailed up her arm until he reached the bruise. He shut his eyes, tightly, hoping that his kido would temper his feelings.

"Too much," she murmured, glancing up at him. "It is only a minor wound." A wry smile split her lips, "Here, let me show you." Again, her small hands were against his arm. Sliding her fingers under his sleeve, she tenderly caressed the bend of his elbow. How she knew he had injured his elbow baffled him. Perhaps she could just _sense_ it. Perhaps she had noticed him favoring it.

Maybe, just maybe, she watched him as intensely as he watched her, and she had seen it.

"Close your eyes," she commanded in a breathy voice.

He submitted for a flash before his eyes flew open. The sensation of her reiatsu licking against his flesh proved too much.

"Controlled and measured. The solider you heal is not the one you fight. You don't want to overwhelm him." Her gaze lifted to his visage. "You feel that?" she said under her breath.

He stared at her. He felt a lot. There was so much to sift through to figure out which feeling she was referring to.

Her healing kido relented, and she bent close to his arm. "Heal the wound but not the scars," she said, examining the besmirched flesh. "Memories," she sighed, lightly tracing the raised tissue.

Byakuya lowered his head toward hers. He was half expecting her to move, but she did not. She sat perfectly still, chin lifted up, and her wide innocent gaze darkened briefly. It excited him—her stillness, her eyes, the way her lips looked slightly moistened. Intoxication washed over him, numbing him. He could hardly feel his hands. He could hardly perceive his own body. The body he had honed, perfected for his purposes. It failed him. Its movements were graceless and slow. He felt lumbering like one of the witless men of the Eleventh. He felt imposing near her. She was so small, so delicate, fragile almost. It was the first time. It was the first time he felt so flawed, so oafish. It was the first time that his mind went fuzzy. He could not control himself, not that he _didn't want _to control himself, but that he simply could not. Gravity pulled him, forcing him down toward her mouth. It was the first time that he was leaning toward a woman. It was instinct—hateful, blissful, alluring instinct. His mouth went wet in anticipation of tasting her.

"Miss Hisana?"

His aunt's voice seared through him like a lightning bolt, jolting him up, ramrod straight. He felt electric. His muscles burned. He could feel the lightning crackle in his knuckles and catch in his teeth. His mouth went dry, cottony. His tongue was thick, and his throat parched. He could not speak. He could not comprehend anything other than the fact that what he was doing was _wrong_. His family would be _disappointed_. He was not living up to _expectations_.

"Yes, Lady Kuchiki," Hisana said turning to the woman. Hisana seemed unfazed. As if, it had never happened. As if, he had not being leaning toward her with lips parted and pupils dilated. As if, she had not remained so still, perhaps wanting to feel his mouth against hers. As if, it had not happened at all—a mere delusion of his, a fantasy.

Perhaps, he had not made his advance. Perhaps it was all in his head. It never happened. It was for the better that he had not given into his baser instincts, he reassured himself. It was for the better. Yet, it did not _feel_ for the better. He felt hungry—unsated. A promise unfulfilled, and his body railed against him. It burned and stung, and his muscles cried out, aching. The tension had not been relieved, and, for a fleeting moment, he wondered if it would ever.

Likely not.

He would be married in spring to another woman. He would be married to a woman designed solely by and for his family. His family would select this woman. His family would dress this woman in finery. His family would anoint this woman as his wife, and he would have to pretend. He would have to pretend that he felt something for her, that she stirred something deep within him. But, she would not. It was a dirty secret that she would not, and his family knew. His family knew of the predilections of noblemen, dissatisfied with the woman plucked for them. His family knew that men had a woman that they loved and a woman that they married. Rarely were the two women one and the same.

"We need your assistance," his aunt murmured. A wild look caught in her eyes, gleaming. At first, Byakuya wondered if the look was scolding. Perhaps his nearness to Hisana had only added to the mounting evidence. Perhaps his dazed stare and improper reception had sealed his fate.

"Yes, Lady Kuchiki," Hisana stated softly, "what is the matter?" She was so calm, so gentle, so graceful. She turned in a single fluid motion to face his aunt. His busybody aunt.

"Lady Megumi is in the throes."

Hisana's eyes fluttered open and shut. "Throes?" she repeated, questioningly.

"Yes, she is expecting, and it is happening."

A smile crept across Hisana's face. "She is in labor," she noted.

"Yes, but she is waning."

Hisana nodded, unsurprised. Coolly, unthinkingly even, she bent and grasped her medical box. "Take me to Lady Megumi."

And like that she was gone. Byakuya watched her leave. Her red kimono trailed behind her as she politely scooted out of the room. Once she crossed the threshold, she stood. Her steps were quick but effortless. Her expression was determined but kind. Her heart was steady but eager.

He could not follow her. Tradition forbade men from entering the birthing house. There was nothing he could do, he told himself. He would only be in the way. Instead, he watched her silhouette move outside his room. His gaze steadfast until it was not, until the manor closed around her—consuming her.

Byakuya exhaled a sigh, hoping the breath would purge his want.

It did not. The burning and stinging resided deep within him, rattling around in his bones. He rolled his head back, and his gaze unwittingly found the door. It was cracked open only slightly, but enough for him to see his father. With an easy movement, his father drew the door back. "We need to speak," Sōjun said quietly, warningly.

Byakuya's heart sunk. It sunk because he knew the reason, and he was not prepared to submit. Not today. Perhaps not ever.

* * *

**Author's Note:** If all goes as planned, the next chapter should begin the plot proper. Thanks for reading! Thanks for reviewing!


	3. Rivals

**Chapter 3: Rivals**

It was early. The air was thick with moisture and with the fragrance of plants gasping their last breaths. Yellows and oranges poured into the dimly lit chamber, painting the floors, walls, and occupants in shades of gold.

Byakuya sat seiza in front of his father. His muscles set in rigid tension. He could not sit straighter. He could not breathe slower, shallower. He could not be more still if he had tried. The family's oppression had finally reached his father's chambers, filling it. Byakuya just _knew _it.

"The Vice Captain of the Fourth mentioned that you wounded yourself during a simulation," Sōjun said, wrapping his fingers around his teacup. Thin wispy streams of steam reached up from the fragrant tea. He took a sip. The cup obscured his mouth, but his eyes were bright and locked on Byakuya.

Byakuya shifted under his father's gaze. Sōjun was respected for his amiable demeanor, eschewing the common characteristics of high nobility. The family's cunning and captious qualities never imbued his soul. Likely, he had inured to their machinations many long years ago. Byakuya wondered when it was that his father decided to become passive, docile. Had Sōjun been born knowing to appease? Byakuya scrutinized his father's face for a brief moment. Surely, Byakuya had inherited his tenacity from _someone_?

"Miss Hisana spoke truthfully," Byakuya responded sheepishly.

His father rarely referred to Hisana by her given name. She was always the "Vice Captain of the Fourth." It was a sign of respect. She had a title even if it did not attach to her from birth. She had _earned_ her rank, and that was respectable in itself.

Byakuya, however, often referred to her by her given name. Sometimes he would tack on an honorific for the sake of pleasantries. His father never seemed irritated by his preference. Other members of the family _loathed _it. He could see it in their faces. Their disapproving stares and shakes of the head. The way some of his relatives cupped their mouths to shield their righteous indignation. "It suggests intimacy," his aunt had chastised him in her most rebuking of tones. The underlying sentiment was clear: Nobles are _not to be_ or _appear to be_ intimate with a peasant, no matter how highly regarded the peasant was among the Gotei 13.

"How is it healing?" Sōjun asked quietly. He lifted his head as if to revise his question, but some unseen force quieted him.

Byakuya blinked. The question spoken was not the question written on his father's face. The question lingering over them, left unsaid was, 'Why did you not tell me?' Perhaps there was a tinge of concern regarding just how _close_ he felt to Hisana. His mental proximity to Hisana was a thing that his family unanimously despised.

His father, however, never made his disapprobation known about the relationship. In fact, he had sought her out to teach his son. Rumor and innuendo suggested that he had to do a lot of fast-talking to induce her to accept his offer. The last healing kido master had quit in dramatic fashion. Byakuya's reticence to learn the lesser kido form left his former master frustrated and angry.

Since Hisana was under Sōjun's employ, only Sōjun could dismiss her. This was a source of consternation in the family. If it had been anyone else, the family would have fired her. Sōjun, however, never spoke of such intentions despite the family's wishes. He likely knew, or, at least, Byakuya's aunt had informed him of Byakuya's reckless behavior. The only quasi-related sentiment Sōjun had spoken to Byakuya regarded the miai. Sōjun expressed his empathy, noting that the situation was an awkward one.

He never asked Byakuya about Hisana. Perhaps his father was truly indifferent. Perhaps he believed it was a fleeting thing—a student's fancy that would turn to some new intrigue in a few months.

Byakuya took a moment to fashion a response and to determine which question he should answer first. "Well. She is very skilled." He went with the facile, the plainly stated. He did not want to rouse his father's suspicions if Sōjun was blissfully unaware. (He wasn't.)

Sōjun's gaze dipped into his teacup. A sober expression bent the lines of his face downward. He seemed contemplative; he seemed not entirely happy with the source of his contemplation. "Your aunt mentioned that you missed your last session."

Byakuya rolled his eyes. The movement would have been imperceptible to all but the keenest of eyes. His father, however, possessed such eyes, and he chuckled. "It was by design, no doubt?" Sōjun watched his son squirm under the question's weight. "You did not merely _forget_?"

Byakuya scowled. His gaze dropped to the tatami mats. He exhaled a small sigh. A sudden but complete hatred of his aunt washed over him. The feeling heated his soul, bubbling and spilling over.

"Of course it was," Sōjun mused to himself as if to say, 'How could it have been any other way?' He didn't say the words. He didn't have to. It was written clearly on his face. "You don't think it matters. You have _better _things with which to be occupying your mind?" Sōjun's voice was equal parts warm and understanding. He spoke from experience. These were likely the things he told himself when he was Byakuya's age.

Byakuya's eyes flitted up to meet his father's gaze. "I was studying for my exams," he murmured, unconvincingly.

Sōjun smiled. "Of course," he said incredulously. "Your aunt tells me that you showed some interest in Lady Rei."

Byakuya's scowl sank into a frown. "Lady Rei doesn't want to be my wife any more than I want to be her husband."

Sōjun's smile widened. "No. I assume she does not," he said, placing his teacup on its saucer. "I don't think _any_ man would interest her."

Byakuya's brows lifted, slightly.

"She has pledged herself to another noble."

"A _woman_?" Byakuya asked, hoping that he had accurately read between the lines.

Sōjun inhaled a deep breath as he poured himself another cup. "I believe so. Her family, however, would never approve of such a match." He paused, placing the teapot down, and he lifted his chin. "Your aunt sends her regrets, but she believes that Lady Rei is unsuitable given the recent investigation."

Byakuya's gaze shifted from the floor, to his father, to the garden, and then back to the floor. He wanted to laugh. Maybe such a match could work? Low expectations.

"You seem perturbed by this news," Sōjun stated, amused. His brows lifted, and a strange worried smile thinned his lips. "But, you are not entirely surprised." More worry.

Byakuya's lips parted as he searched for a proper response. None flew to mind. He came up empty. Not even a word to revise.

"Your aunt thinks your mind is preoccupied." The words hovered over them, threatening to explode at any moment.

Byakuya looked down, hoping to hide his thoughts. He felt suddenly transparent. How could he have been so unskillful? So bumbling? Were his thoughts so easily discernable? He never believed they were. He hid them well under brazen words and brash actions. Perhaps his quietness around her had exposed him? Was it the way he looked at her? In a second, he scanned his mental inventory, hoping to discover his mistakes.

"Perhaps you are too young still. You have different priorities. Maybe it is possible for me to convince your grandfather and your aunt to extend this decision." Sōjun took another sip of tea.

Byakuya's eyes widened and shot up to his father, beseechingly. Hope gleamed in his look. A silent plea caught in his gaze. He prayed that his father could spare him this decision for a few _years,_ at least. Millennia would have been preferable.

Sōjun flashed a solemn but knowing smile. He knew he was only sparing Byakuya from the inevitable. Ultimately, Ginrei would have his way. But, now? Byakuya's infatuation was too fresh and too deep for anything but disaster to come from the miai. Unlike Byakuya's aunt, Sōjun did not believe the throes of infatuation could be so easily _diverted_.

"Have you ever heard the story of the three arrows?" Sōjun asked, hoping to cut through the tense gravity that blanketed the room.

Byakuya looked up at his father, weak-eyed and questioningly.

Sōjun smiled.

. . . .

"Vice Captain Ichimaru," Hisana called sweetly. She played bubbly and bumbling with equal flare. Her large eyes were open extra wide and expressed an extra glint of innocent naivety. She was good at _pretending_, at _playing a part._ And, when she saw Gin Ichimaru zero in on his latest, and _favorite_, source of entertainment, she had no choice but to intervene. Her sense of decency demanded it. It also helped that her favorite pupil was in the crosshairs. Even if it was deservedly so. But, Ichimaru was cold and slippery, like a snake. She could not approach the situation directly. He would slither away, or, worse, he would _strike_.

"It is so good to see you," she said, pouring on the stupid as thickly as possible. Her voice was light and canorous, and she wore the warmest and widest smile that she could muster.

Gin turned. His cold eyes slid right over her, right _through _her. She successfully repressed the urge to shiver, but her hackles rose nonetheless. "Vice Captain Hisana," he replied in a soft thick Rukon drawl. His eyes squinted up, and his infernal smile lengthened. He was good at playing stupid, too. Perhaps it was a skill they shared from their Rukongai heritage.

"It is such a lovely day. I am surprised that you are not out harvesting persimmons. They should be coming into season. I rather enjoyed your pickled persimmons last spring," she blurted out, setting her cadence to Gatling gun mode. The words could not have escaped her lips at a quicker rate.

Gin cocked his head to the side. His smile faded, and his eyes opened slightly. "Yes," he said softly, "I do like the fruit _ripe_—plucked fresh _right off the vine_." His gaze shifted briefly to his victim.

Hisana's smile widened. She felt the muscles of her face stretch like thin cable cords, taut and twitching slightly at the tension. Clearly, Gin had made some sort of double entendre. Hisana, however, was missing the pieces, but, given his imagery, she suspected it was sexual in nature. "I could assist you," she said in her best syrupy sing-song voice. She nearly gagged on the words (or was it the smile?) they were so thick.

"No need, Vice Captain Hisana. I will be sure to remember you when I go out."

"Please do!" she squealed with manufactured delight. "I will make that persimmon-flavored cough syrup for you to keep on hand for any chest colds you might develop over the coming winter." Her expression was warm and bright. She had surgically removed any trace of intelligible thought from her face. "It is going to be a long winter," she said darkly. Her smile slipped for a moment, and the bright glint in her eyes dimmed.

Gin understood her look. His smile stiffened, solidifying on his face. He nodded in her direction before turning to his victim, "Send your father my regards," he said warningly before leaving.

Hisana's smile fell, and, suddenly, every muscle in her face cried out in pain from overuse. Stinging, burning pain. Her index and middle finger rubbed gentle circles against her jawline. "Too much?" she asked slyly, eyeing Byakuya.

He shot her a guarded stare. "A little," he murmured, cagey.

A small genuine smile thinned her lips. "When is your examination?" she asked, taking a few steps forward, toward her division. Byakuya followed her, likely relieved that she had not asked him about his altercation with Ichimaru.

"It has been delayed."

Hisana nodded her head. Realization lit her brain. "Yes, of course," she murmured to herself. A faraway look caught in her eyes.

Byakuya clearly did not understand her meaning. "You know the reason?"

She gave him a perplexed sidelong gaze. "Did they not tell you?" She paused only for a moment to search his face. He stared down at her blankly. "The divisions are pulling their resources for a major operation. I am surprised that your father has not mentioned it."

"Why?" Byakuya had tried to tame the panic from his visage, but Hisana could tell the news upset the young lord. It was his right. Sōjun was not fully restored. He had no place in battle.

"The Sixth is the division leading the operation." Even to her ears, she sounded disheartened. Hisana pressed her lips together, and she offered Byakuya a conciliatory look.

Byakuya's gaze flickered to the path winding in front of him. And, for the briefest of moments, she could feel his reiatsu flare. "Will the Fourth?" he began but stopped suddenly. He did not have the heart to finish.

Hisana's brows furrowed. A warm empathy filled her. "No." The finality of her response proved too cruel. She quickly added, "But I am in charge of setting beds and stocking supplies just in case." The statement sounded more soothing in her head. Spoken aloud, it sounded like a harsh indictment of the plan. "They won't need it." It was a hollow assurance made hollower by her previous statements.

Nearing the Fourth, the pair paused. Hisana observed the young lord with the softest of stares. "If you need anything," she began, but halted, realizing that the statement was meant to make _her_ feel better, more in control, and was less about _his_ feelings. He needed time to process whatever it was he felt.

Stoic indifference neutralized his expression. His eyes darkened. His lips bent downward. The muscles around his eyes, forehead, and jaw went slack. He and only he knew his feelings.

Byakuya gave a shallow bow of his head before pivoting on the heel of his feet. A silent farewell. She watched him for the moment it took for him to dart across the Seireitei. "Please," she sighed to herself. There were so many ways to end that plea. She hadn't quite decided on one as she crossed into the Fourth.

For hours, she made arrangements. For hours, she met with various squads of the Fourth, ensuring that everyone was well prepared. For hours, she waited. Her mind played through numerous scenarios. None of them was good. All of them ended in tragedy. It was a rare event, indeed, that the Fourth had to make _arrangements_ beforehand, and Unohana had been very particular with her orders.

'It is just that risky,' Hisana thought to herself, folding the same blanket for the millionth time. 'No,' her inner-optimist chided her, 'it is a precaution. The mission is risky, sure, but these are skilled Shinigami. Prudence.'

Then, her mind drew to thoughts of Sōjun. He was not well enough to handle such a demanding task. When she met with him only a day ago, he was noncommittal about returning to his post. What had changed his mind? Briefly, she prayed it had not been something _she_ had said.

Her hands violently unfurled the blanket again. She pulled the corners up, pressing the warm material against her chest. While performing the perfunctory movements, her eyes drifted to the window. The night fell dark and heavy. The window was slightly ajar, and she could feel the cold thick chill of the autumn air skate over her arm before sinking into her marrow.

It was late, and nothing—no word from the squads. Folding down the corners of the blanket, Hisana sighed. A moment of relief swept through her, slowing the drumming beat of her heart and assuaging the flurry of thoughts.

Then, her relief came crashing to an end with a simple question, "Vice Captain?"

Hisana's heart sank. She could feel it drop. She could feel it descend into her stomach. Her breath caught cold in her throat, sending icy prickles trailing up and down her spine. Wide-eyed, she glanced up.

Her subordinate stood forebodingly in the doorway. Shadows, heavy and velvety, painted the Shinigami in the darkest of shades. She stood in the doorway like a harbinger of death. The girl was young, likely a first-year. Her eyes were wide and glossy, and her face had a ghostly pallor.

Bad news lingered on her lips. "It is an emergency," she said meekly. Her voice trembled belying the gravity of it all in a few words. "Vice Captain Sōjun has been felled."

. . . .

Kaien strolled into the Thirteenth at an ungodly hour. It was 3 AM. No one should have to be on patrols until 3 AM. Boring, meaningless patrols. Didn't he have subordinates for that type of thing? he groused to himself.

Bleary-eyed and famished, he stopped short a few paces through the Thirteenth's gates, and he stared into the firmament. Dawn was a long ways away, he noted solemnly. There was only cold oppressive darkness for miles.

"There you are!" Miyako cried out.

Kaien started at the sound of his wife's voice. It was urgent but guarded. Something horrible had happened. He turned into the sound of her footfalls, unusually heavy and quick. Suddenly, the exhaustion that had sunk into his sinews moments prior melted. He felt like a snake, shedding its skin. "What is it?" he asked, barely able to make out her face through the darkness.

"There is an emergency Captain's meeting," she said shoving a note at his face.

He took it, knowing that he could not read the parchment in the heavy shade. "I can't," he began staring into the dark greys and blues obscuring the hastily written calligraphy. It was no use. He needed a light.

"Go to the First, hurry!" she said, anticipating his confusion. With a sharp shove, she thrust him forward. "Go!"

Off he went.

The trek to the First took a few minutes. He slipped in just before the doors closed. He gave an apologetic smile to Chōjirō Sasakibe before filing into line behind Ukitake, who appeared _relieved _to see him.

Nervously, he surveyed the room. The Captain-Commander stood, presiding, and his Vice Captain stood dutifully behind him. Suì-Fēng was poised with breast out and head held high, and her Vice Captain was cleaning his ears behind her.

Shaking his head, Kaien's gaze immediately flew over to Unohana. She appeared calm and collected, but the unmistakable shine of sweat on her forehead caught the pale silver of the moonlight.

His heart stuttered when he caught a glimpse of Hisana.

Darkness clung to her, and, for a moment, he thought she had stepped into some bad shade when realization crashed over him. It wasn't the shadow that painted her. It was blood. Blood covered her from stem to sternum. Blood and sweat, slick and wet pulled the moonbeams. She looked shocked, panicked, struggling to breathe. Her neck strained, and he could see the dip between her clavicles deepen with each inhalation. Likely feeling the burn of his eyes on her, her gaze locked on his. Her lips trembled, and that was when it hit him.

No one from the Third or the Sixth stood in line.

His gaze shifted to their respective positions. Empty space. Dark empty space.

His eyes returned to Hisana. With a single fleeting glance, she told him everything he needed to know: The Divisions were decimated. The mission? Failed. She was likely coated in the blood of the Vice Captains, and Unohana's sweat came from laboring over the Captains. Their presence at the meeting only signaled the fact that the Shinigami either had been stabilized or had perished.

Kaien lowered his head, lost in thought. A thousand possibilities assailed him. His brain worked a mile a minute to sort through the various combinations. Words crashed over him from various parties, but they did not reach him. They did not penetrate his mental fog.

Not until Unohana spoke.

Her voice was eerily quiet and collected. "Captain Kuchiki is stabilized," she murmured respectfully. When she was asked about the Third's Captain, she inclined her head, "He has passed."

Hisana answered for the Vice Captains. "The Third's Vice Captain is stable. Prognosis: 85% survival rate."

"The Sixth's Vice Captain?" It was Yamamoto who posed the questions.

Hisana shook, and she lowered her head. Her strength failed her, and Kaien watched the cracks spread across her features. "Vice Captain Sōjun Kuchiki is dead," she managed in a thin strained voice. Her gaze remained glued to the ground. She did not move from that position for the rest of the meeting.

"The location of the King's Fire?" Yamamoto asked, directing his question to Isshin.

"Unknown."

Kaien could almost _feel_ the air pressure in the room drop. It was going to be a long night. It was going to be a long _week_ at this rate.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Torianime246**: I really appreciate the review! I do read many things (mostly not by choice).

**Rose Attack:** Thanks so much! I am glad you like the characterization of Sojun and Aunt.

To everyone who reads, thanks so much!


	4. Death Machine

**Chapter 4: Death Machine**

Hisana dipped her hands in the frigid water. It had been warm. Steaming and soothing, but she had stared into it, watching the steam rise and scatter. It had gone lukewarm and then cold. It was icy now.

She could not feel it. Everything was numb. All she could perceive was the blood pulling from her skin. It was surreal—like drops of dye expanding in the water. But it wasn't dye. It was blood. Red, red, red blood.

Her eyes watched. They stung, not from crying. She had not cried a tear. She couldn't just yet. Her mind was still sorting it out. Sifting through it all. Still not quite believing what happened, _happened_. It was a bad dream. She would wake up and everything would be different. The Third's Captain would still draw breath. Lord Sōjun would still require her treatments.

The last thought brought on an avalanche of pain. Realization, harsh and cruel, crashed over her. She felt like she was drowning. She couldn't quite catch her breath. Her heart couldn't quite figure out how to work—it was all quick starts and stops. Her muscles ached from fatigue. Her body felt wrecked. Her eyes burned, bloodshot and red-rimmed, from a steady refusal to close.

"He is here," a subordinate said softly, cracking the door back on its hinges.

Hisana turned to the meek voice. "Yes," she said mechanically. Her face must have horrified the young Shinigami for the woman stepped back, aghast.

"Vice Captain," she murmured, shutting the door behind her as she crossed over the threshold. "Here let me." With quick fluttering movements, the woman dampened a towel and began to clean Hisana's forehead and neck. "You have not slept since the mission was announced," the woman noted gently. "After this, let me relieve you for a few hours."

Hisana nodded, not really feeling it. Her feelings had been stuffed away in some forgotten compartment of her brain. She could barely move let alone argue with her well-intentioned Third Seat.

"I think you look sufficient," the girl said gently.

_Sufficiently what?_ Hisana wondered to herself. _Tortured? Professional? Clean?_ "Thank you," she murmured under her breath.

Her muscles tensed with each step she took. It took a herculean effort, indeed, just to push the door open. It took a herculean effort just to stand there before Lord Byakuya. He watched her desperately.

It took all of her strength to meet his gaze. She could see that he was searching her. Hope still lingered in his eyes, on his face. She hated this part the most—the part where she took that hope and crushed it.

He had already begun to suspect her news. Her face was as blank and as unfeeling as a white page, which was uncharacteristic for her. She always had an easy smile and comforting look ready to pull out at a moment's notice. Not now, however. She could barely function let alone _emote_, and if her emotions did break forth, she was certain they would _surge forth_ like a deluge. It would have been ugly, and it would have involved _a great deal_ of sobbing.

_That_ maelstrom would have to _wait_. It would wait for the pillow, when she was alone in her own dormitory, certain that no one was nearby. She could have her well-deserved breakdown far from the earshot of her contemporaries. Far from the earshot of the deceased's family. They deserved better.

She stared up into Byakuya Kuchiki's face, waiting for realization to hit him. Perhaps it already had, but hope still resided in his grey eyes. It always did. Hope remained where logic would dictate otherwise.

"Hisana?" he asked, deepening his stare.

"Lord Kuchiki," she began, and she saw the change in him. It was instant. She never referred to him as "Lord Kuchiki," because "Lord Kuchiki" was the title reserved for his grandfather or his father. "Lord Kuchiki" was his _inheritance_.

His eyes widened, and she _knew_ he was preparing himself. "Captain Kuchiki is in the intensive care unit. His chances of survival are good," she said softly.

Byakuya swallowed and exhaled. His breathing began to regulate, and he appeared less tense. "My father?"

Hisana forced herself to keep her gaze trained on his. Her jaws clenched, and her lips tightened as she pushed her immense sadness down to the pit of her stomach. "I—" she began, but stopped herself. No. This was about _him_, not _her_. "Vice Captain Kuchiki," she began, shaking her head. The words burned in her chest and stuck in her throat.

Byakuya, however, was astute. His expression fell. Reflexively, he grabbed her by her shoulder. It was visceral, his touch. It was heavy and tight. It would leave marks, perhaps bruises.

"He perished."

His grip intensified. Hisana, however, did not flinch. He was tethering himself to something _real_, something _unmovable_. It was a common enough reaction in her experience. That sort of news could leave someone spinning, unsteady.

She stood firm, keeping her gaze on him. "Lord Kuchiki?" she asked, feeling him begin to wane. His hold of her relented, but she could feel the muscles in his hand shake. "Shock," she murmured, bracing him against her.

"How?" he asked, confused.

She shook her head. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" he repeated. It wasn't an accusation. He seemed sincerely perplexed. The news had not fully pierced him. It would eventually sink in. It would eventually turn to _misery_.

"He arrived," she couldn't speak the word. _Dead_. It was on the tip of her tongue, but it seemed so vulgar. _Gone_. It was another euphemism, so was _Passed on_ or _Passed away_. Trite expression after trite expression entered her head, trickled her thoughts. She had brandished them all at some point. But, not now. Those words weren't good enough. "I tried to revive him for an hour." She shook her head, biting back the sob that began to swell in her throat. "I am so sorry."

"His body?" Byakuya asked, not quite believing her.

Hisana stared into his face. It _felt_ like a bad idea. The pain was too fresh, too new. Seeing the body now, in its state, may only make things worse. But, who was she to deny him the ability to pray over his father's body? It was standard operating procedure to allow the family access to the bodies. "Yes," she said, lowering her head. "Please." She led him to the small private room. A heavy blanket concealed the body. A heavy blanket concealed the damage. She had pulled it tightly over him as a sign of respect. Sōjun Kuchiki deserved his dignity even in death. He deserved the protection and warmth of the blanket on that dark, cold, treacherous night.

Sōjun Kuchiki deserved a better fate.

She left Byakuya to grieve in private, closing the door behind her as she crossed the threshold into the hallway. She stopped, bracing her back against the wall, and she gazed helplessly in front of her. Swirls of white sterile activity assaulted her senses from every direction. It was almost pretty in the abstract. Her mind would only afford her the world in the abstraction. Exhaustion twisted her senses, shooting her concentration to hell.

"Vice Captain." The voice was unmistakably Unohana's. It rushed over her. But she did not react. Her gaze remained fixed on the wall in front of her.

"Yes, Captain," she murmured mechanically.

"Lord Kuchiki?" Unohana asked gently, nodding in the direction of the door.

"Yes."

"I will speak to him," Unohana murmured softly. Before pulling the door back, she glanced over at Hisana. "Get some rest. You _need_ it." A motherly order, but an _order_ nonetheless.

. . . .

"So, what next?" Kaien asked Ukitake over a cup of tea.

Ukitake's brows rose at his subordinate's candor. "I suppose we find a match."

Kaien stared at Ukitake. '_What the hell did that mean? Find a 'match'? This isn't blood donation.'_

Kaien's vexation was quietly understood. Ukitake shook his head. "Pardon my assumptions. The King's Fire is a weapon of great destruction."

"Obviously," Kaien said, "It nearly wiped out two well-armed divisions."

"It is housed in a golden sepulcher. The sepulcher maintains the fire, but it also constrains it. To deactivate the weapon requires a powerful key."

"So we need the key to the sepulcher?"

Ukitake shook his head. "You really ignored your arcane studies, didn't you?" he teased lightly over his cup.

Kaien smirked. "Do you know _how many_ relics there are?" he retorted under his breath.

Ukitake glanced up approvingly as if counting the number in his head. He stopped part way through his mental inventory. "Well, we have the key to _this relic_."

"That's great news!" Kaien said, feigning excitement; he was keenly aware that it was not so simple. "So we find the King's Fire and lock it up. Sounds _easy_."

"It isn't." Ukitake exhaled a sharp breath. "The key requires the spiritual power of a healer to charge. Once it is fully charged _then_ it can be used to lock the sepulcher."

"The key requires a _sacrifice_ in other words?" Kaien sighed.

"A fresh sacrifice. The individual's spiritual power must be drained within a few minutes before the key loses it charge completely, rendering it useless." Ukitake filled his mouth with tea.

Kaien rolled his eyes. "Of course it would. Because when you need to deactivate a death machine, be sure to make the process completely ass-backwards and impossible."

Ukitake nearly choked on his tea. Composing himself, he shot his Vice Captain a wry look. "The sacrifice serves as a potent reminder for us to use the King's Fire only as a last resort. It requires a harrowing sacrifice of a respected and necessary member of our society."

"Except when it is stolen and used against _us_ does this mechanism really go from _poetic_ to _stupid_," Kaien retorted, unamused. His captain's pretty reasons did not warm his heart or calm his mind.

"Yamamoto will order the Kido Corps and the Fourth to submit the names of their healers," Ukitake said, ignoring Kaien's tirade for the time being.

Kaien sighed, shaking his head. "Great, we strap a bomb on one of our healers, and pray that we find the machine before it kills him or her. Sounds like an _airtight_ plan there." He went from incredulous to caustic in only a few seconds.

"It is the only plan."

"We could secure it before we strap the key of death to our _lucky_ healer."

"What do you think last night was?" Ukitake watched his subordinate scoff. "Don't worry. I will not submit Miyako's name for the test. Her healing kido is helpful, but it isn't strong enough."

"Test?" Kaien echoed, becoming slightly less defensive after Ukitake's assurance.

"Yes, the key must _choose_ the healer."

Kaien grimaced. "So _any ole healer_ won't suffice?"

Ukitake shook his head. "It requires an experienced healer."

"For the maximum effect?"

Ukitake nodded. "It is a brutal instrument."

Kaien frowned into his cup of tea. "Chances that this thing picks the Captain of the Fourth?"

"Very likely," Ukitake said sourly. "I would be surprised if it didn't bind to Captain Unohana."

"And if it does?"

Ukitake's gaze drifted to the side. "I don't know."


	5. Catalyst

**Chapter 5: Catalyst**

A siren's shrill call blasted the air—loud and foreboding. The sound was so clear, so visceral, it caught in your head and shook your bones. In a word, the din was _dreadful._ And it continued in several crescendo-ing blasts for a full three minutes.

The siren summoned Shinigami from the 13 divisions and from the specialized squads. With hesitant strides, the soldiers poured into the town square where they huddled together. Fluttering glances and stoic looks belied the tension simmering just beneath the soldiers' thin patina of practiced courage.

It felt like a culling, Hisana noted drily to herself as she surveyed the crowd. Her mind, weary and morbid from sleep deprivation, was quick to make the comparison to large game being corralled for slaughter.

It was disorienting.

The ground seemingly tilted and rolled under her feet as she tried her best to remain upright. But, it wasn't the ground that kept her off balanced. It was the crowd. It moved and shifted erratically, pulling her in all directions at once. She was pushed and shoved and pulled.

Hisana closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath. The noise, the heat, the constant movement was becoming unbearable. _'How much longer?'_ she wondered wearily. She had only managed a few hours of sleep before a hell butterfly roused her.

Suddenly, the crowd began to thrust her forward. They were being corralled into a building, likely one of the Second's offices. Quiet murmurs sounded in all directions: "What is happening?" "Where are we going?" "Did you hear anything?"

Hisana surveyed the sea of black and white uniforms. Many of the Shinigami belonged to her division. Flashes of recognition lit her brain. Other faces, however, she could not place. Some faces were obscured by the Kido Corps' standard masks.

Hisana shook her head. Amid all of the confusion, she knew one thing was sure: It was going to be a _long _day filled with waiting.

And, she was right.

She waited and waited _and waited_.

Nine hours of mind-numbing boredom later, Hisana sat quietly in a chair outside a strange sealed door. The hallway was dark and cold. Blackness cut visibility to only a few meters.

Hisana could barely see her hands balled nervously in her lap. A wet cold sweat slickened her skin. Reflexively, she rubbed her palms against the coarse material of her hakama. _'What is this?'_ she wondered to herself. The oppressive, almost deafening, silence and darkness had finally gotten to her, unraveling her quickly fraying nerves.

"Would you care for a refreshment, Vice Captain?" The guard's voice cut through her inner turmoil like a blade through heavy cloth.

She started, straightening in her seat and lifting her head. It took an embarrassing amount of effort just to focus on the lowly Shinigami standing watch at the door. Hisana blinked, hoping it would moisten her aching eyes. "Yes, please," she murmured drowsily.

With a wag of a finger, the guard summoned a fresh-faced boy. In a flash, the boy kneeled before her. In his small hands was a cup of water. Obediently, he brought his hands up and bowed his head. "Thank you," she whispered softly, taking the cast iron cup from him.

Wordlessly, the boy disappeared into the shadows.

Hisana frowned. The Second was a strange place. The Shinigami were so dutiful, so compliant, like robots. Not in ten thousand years could she train her heart to be so subservient.

"Is it to your liking, Vice Captain?" the guard asked, staring straight ahead into the middle distance.

Hisana took a small sip. Her throat tensed; it was so parched that swallowing proved painful. "Yes," she said in a throaty voice, glancing up at the guard. She could not make out his face. A black cloth covered his nose and mouth, and dark shadows welled over his eyes. "Thank you." She smiled and nodded her head. "May I ask, what is the purpose of this _meeting_?"

"Was the Vice Captain not informed?" he asked, motionless. So still, in fact, that Hisana briefly wondered if she had imagined his question.

She shook her head. "The transmission was woefully short on _specifics_." She had no doubt that such was standard operating procedure at the Second. The division was notoriously guarded when it came to providing information. It was their source of control. Nothing happened in Soul Society without their knowledge.

"That was an oversight," he said.

Hisana doubted it. Suì-Fēng ran a tight ship. She left nothing to chance. Her hands and eyes touched _everything_ that came into or exited the division. She was that _good_, that _dedicated_, that _obsessive_.

"We are testing healers."

_'That explains why my division was summoned…'_ Hisana tilted her head to the side. "Testing healers for what?"

"Compatibility."

Hisana blinked. Her eyelids fluttered, and her lips parted, forming a small "O." _'Compatibility,'_ seemed like such a strange word. Compatibility with what? Her eyes narrowed as she considered her own question. The word posed a riddle; one that she could not answer.

"Vice Captain, it is your turn," the guard said softly. He stepped to the side, allowing her entrance.

Hisana stood, and, bowing slightly in the guard's direction, she slipped through the seal. Upon crossing the threshold, a deep darkness fell over her. Quickly, she blinked to ensure that she was, in fact, perceiving the blackness that surrounded her.

She was.

Frantic, like a drowning person, she flailed around, relying on her other senses. The room's smell was thick and musky. The type of fragrance that came in through the nose, crawled down the throat, and strangled the breath. The air was cold and heavy, swirling across her hands and face. She was almost certain that the darkness was watching her, sensing her.

"Hello?" she murmured, hoping that what she was experiencing was not in her imagination. Pivoting on her heel, she turned. Then, she saw it. A small pinprick of yellow light pulled her eye. She took a few steps forward.

Two burly men stood deep inside the room. They puffed their chests out and crossed their massive arms behind their backs. A table separated the men. On the table sat a small golden box; the box was the source of the luminance.

"Vice Captain Hisana."

Hisana stopped dead at the sound of her name. She had never heard her name spoken in such a cold, calculating tenor. Immediately, her muscles forced her into a deep bow before her mind could put it together. "Captain Suì-Fēng," she said, "please forgive my impertinence."

Still bowed down, Hisana lifted her head slightly to see the captain step into the soft warm effulgence spilling forth from the box. Suì-Fēng stood ramrod straight with her shoulders level and her hands behind her back. "Approach," she said clearly, powerfully.

Hisana obeyed. Without hesitation, she straightened and moved forward. Reaching the relic, Suì-Fēng uttered a sharp command, "Halt."

Gently, the Captain reached into the box and withdrew a gold vambrace. The captain flipped the armor up and unfastened the buckles. Inside the vambrace were several sharp, thin mechanisms; the mechanisms reminded Hisana of an insect's stingers.

"Give me your dominate hand, Vice Captain," Suì-Fēng commanded. The captain inclined her head and extended her arm forward. Her fingers unfurled, exposing her palm.

Hesitant, Hisana lifted her right arm toward the Captain's outstretched hand. Before her weight had settled, Suì-Fēng yanked her forward, toward the vambrace. Hisana turned her head, shielding her eyes. She couldn't explain it, but she was certain that the stingers would pierce her skin.

A gasp, however, forced her attention to the golden relic. It sprang to life. A bright glow poured out from the armlet, and the stingers began to move in small staccato circles.

Hisana swallowed. Hard. What did this mean? Her eyes, large and searching, examined the strange relic. It seemingly reached out toward her. The sharp thin stingers began to hone in on her reiatsu, and they became rigid, turning toward her arm.

"The second one all day," Suì-Fēng murmured triumphantly as she dropped Hisana's arm. Swift and sure, the captain spun around on the balls of her feet, and replaced the vambrace.

"What happened?" Hisana asked, confused.

The captain stared at Hisana as if she had asked the most obvious of questions. "You are compatible." A silent, _'Of course!'_ caught in the captain's eyes, but the expression did not leave her mouth.

Hisana's brow furrowed. Again, that word, "compatible." What did it mean? she could not help but wonder.

"Only the power of healers with repentant hearts can deactivate the King' Fire. _You_ possess that power." The captain shook her head, dismayed by Hisana's ignorance. "You are dismissed."

. . . .

Byakuya sat in front of his writing desk. The smooth buttery mahogany wood reflected his image back at him. Unwittingly, his eyes lingered over his likeness. He looked tired, pale. He looked like he had seen better days.

He _had_ seen better days.

The funeral preparations took a toll on him. As Sōjun's only child, it was his responsibility to oversee _everything_. The House, however, was eager to direct his efforts. Too eager.

With little joy, he set a piece of parchment on the desktop, and he withdrew his ink stone and brush. Quick, familiar strokes guided his hand. The bristles of the brush flowed across the page, an extension of his soul. For a moment, he felt respite. The tension in his body faded muscle by muscle, and his dark trouble thoughts subsided. For a moment, he could breathe easy. His heart could find its natural pace. For a moment, he pushed his immense sadness and loss aside.

Then, his letter was complete. He stared down at it, seeing it without actually reading the words. His calligraphy was admirable considering his state. But, it could have been better. More controlled, more aesthetic. It would do, however.

He folded the letter in half, and he sealed it. The red wax bore his family's crest. Waiting for it to dry, he pushed it to the corner of the desk. He then reached for another sheet. His long thin fingers peeled the paper back and centered it in front of him. He gently dipped his brush in the ink. He was just about to compose another letter when a strange sinking feeling seized his muscles.

Byakuya inhaled a deep breath, and, with equal measure, he exhaled. "Enter," he murmured, feeling a presence lingering just outside his door. It was his aunt. He knew because he caught her inky silhouette through the rice paper.

In the proper manner, she opened the door, revealing her small kneeling figure. She did not enter. No, she came bearing news. "Lord Kuchiki," she began, head lowered and voice soft.

He prickled at the title. He would warm to it, he told himself every time someone uttered the title in his direction. Like a toddler donning his father's clothing, it did not quite fit him. He would grow into "Lord Kuchiki." He would inherit his father's wisdom. But, it would take time.

"We have to discuss your future betrothal."

He went numb. An imperfect stroke of the brush left black ugly splotch on the otherwise fine parchment. "It is _soon_." His voice, while soft, was firm and cool. He glimpsed her in his peripheral vision. The glance was fleeting, and he continued writing. The words spewing forth were meaningless, now. A mere distraction.

His aunt stared at the floor. Her red lips trembled. Perhaps his sudden coldness offended her. Perhaps she did not want to be there, saying the things she had been charged to say. Byakuya was not sure; however, he was in no mood to entertain such trifling thoughts at that moment.

"Your grandfather," she murmured.

Byakuya's hand stopped, but he refused to look at her. "Yes," he said with quiet rage.

"Your grandfather has pledged you to Lady Nanako."

Byakuya lifted his head. He shut his eyes and inhaled a deep breath. He was too tired, too beaten down to fight. It would have been gauche. It would have been disrespectful to his father's memory.

_His reaction was expected. _

A warm current of anger heated the blood and tensed the muscle. His grandfather was an excellent strategist. One of the best. _The best_, in fact. Ginrei knew Byakuya would capitulate. Ginrei knew Byakuya would not make a scene so close to his father's funeral. No, Byakuya would not refuse the family so close to his father's death. He would be obedient. He would be practical. He would marry in a few months' time. His family's tragedy would quickly be replaced with joy. His family's tragedy would be _forgotten_. Like Yoruichi Shihōin and his mother, Sōjun's memory would fade until it felt like he had _always _been dead. Time would reset the default—to fathom Sōjun living would be alien, foreign.

A marriage would speed that process along. A marriage would provide a breath of fresh air. It would lighten the soul and soften the heart. It would be a diversion, concealing the horrors that befell their family with alarming frequency.

Byakuya refused to be that distraction. "I will properly mourn my father's passing. Only _then_ will I discuss this _arrangement_." His voice was soft but forceful.

His aunt glanced up at him. "Lady Nanako will be at the funeral tomorrow. It would be polite to speak to her then."

"I will do no such thing," he said firmly.

. . . .

Hisana stared into the rushing water. Over a short cliff, the water came crashing down at a steady tempo. The sound filled her ears, wiping her mind clean. She could almost feel her soul reaching out to the cool liquid. She yearned to feel the current swirl against her skin, cleansing her of the private tragedies she had suffered. Feeling the water's warmth pooling against her hand, she shut her eyes and breathed easy for a spell.

It was late. Too late to be awake, but sleep refused her. She had tossed in her bed for three hours. She counted tiles, straws, even the threads of her yukata. Her mind would not retire. So there she was, sitting with her legs dangling in the spring's warm water. The steam rose from the spring, consuming the area in a dense humid fog.

It was lovely.

Hisana ran her hand down her thigh. The cloth of her garment bunched at her knees, and she knotted her fingers in loose material. Gently, she pulled the yukata up to the middle of her thigh as she stretched her legs deeper into the water. "They hadn't lied," she murmured, exhaling a breath. Her eyes went blurry for a moment as she relished the heat. It soothed her, easing the tension from her legs.

She was about to unknot her yukata and disrobe when her fingers stiffened. She sensed the intrusion before her mind had the chance to process it. Whoever it was, he _wanted_ to be known. He was too close, too stealthy. He could have gone unnoticed to her weary mind. Indeed, he was trying to pull her attention.

And pull her attention he did.

Hisana turned to the disturbance. The familiar reiatsu swirled around her, and her lips turned up into a small tender smile. "Lord Kuchiki," she said glancing up at him. He stood dressed casually. His hair was down, loosely falling around his shoulders. His robes were plain, inexpensive. He stood a stone's throw away, staring down at her with his patented inscrutable expression.

An incredible feeling of regret overwhelmed her. It was sudden, but it was complete. Hisana quickly turned her cheek, hoping to hide her despair. Guilt, warranted or not, flowed through her at a steady beat. It had been her constant companion for the last few days.

"I sent a courier with a message, but you were not there," Byakuya said. His tone was deep but gentle. He made an observation, not a judgment.

Hisana lowered her head. She pulled her hand in her sleeve and gently dabbed the material against her tear-stained cheek. "Oh?" she managed in a strangled breath. Funny how he seemed so composed in comparison, she mused to herself. How did he do it? She was an absolute wreck.

Silence slipped between them. And then she realized that he was _waiting_. He was waiting for her to address him properly, like the lord he was. "Please, forgive my manners," she said, turning to him.

Her gaze slowly trailed up to his face. The starlight lit him, casting a silvery sheen on his fair features. He looked truly regal, staring down at her. He was all fine lines and smooth skin. He possessed an uncommon beauty.

His expression softened as he watched her.

"Isn't it late for a young lord to be wandering the hinterland?" she teased softly.

He lifted his head at her question, but he chose to ignore it. "You made an offer several days ago," he noted, matter-of-factly.

Hisana's eyes widened. "Oh?" She failed to recall any offers.

"You offered to assist me with my examination preparation."

"I did," she said, tilting her head to the side. She remembered the conversation well. He had been so nervous then. She had wondered what had set him aflutter. Initially, she assumed it was examination season. She could barely concentrate during exams. Any little thing distracted her. It was unbearable.

But, he wasn't distracted then. No. He had leaned toward her with that unmistakable look on his face. She knew the look, not from her own experience, but from plays and from the occasional stolen glances of young lovers. She hadn't moved away from that look. She should have moved. She vowed to move away in the future.

"Does it still stand?" he asked.

Hisana clenched her jaws, and her gaze fell to the rocky ground. "Have you ever made a choice that wasn't yours to make?" she asked somberly.

He shifted at the question. She could see the lines of his shadow bend. "Of course, you have," she murmured softly to herself. Her eyes flashed up, catching the silver of the moonlight. Gleaming through the darkness, her gaze and his gaze locked. "I have to make such a choice now." Holding his look, she stood.

He raised his head, and his brows furrowed. Pain colored his face and curled his fingers into fists. He was good at restraining his deepest feelings. Bereavement, however, was a hard beast to conquer.

Without a second thought, she reached out imploringly. She understood his pain for she felt it too. Perhaps, she did not know the extent or the depth of his sorrow. But, she knew its sting, and she felt its hunger—constant and horrible.

He stared down at her hand, shimmering in the starlight. Pain stayed him, made him hesitant. Pain, however, was transformative. It was quick to morph into a suffocating melancholia. As it transformed, the need for companionship innervated his heart.

His fingers slowly unfurled from the fists they made by his side. The muscles were slow to loosen, stiff from tension. But she remained constant. Her gaze was unrelenting in its tenderness.

His reached out, tentatively taking her hand in his. Her skin was so soft. Her hand was so small. His hand enveloped hers completely.

The change was instant. Whether she had employed a healing technique or if it was just her calmness, he felt _different_. His pain ameliorated, pulling away like the waves pulling back into the ocean. He exhaled and closed his eyes. His grip on her tightened. He pulled her fast against him, and they embraced in the twilight.


	6. Choices

**Chapter 6: Choices **

Captain Unohana sat carefully crafting the perfect floral arrangement. It was breathtaking in its simplicity. It inspired a feeling of tranquility. In a word, it was _elegant_.

Hisana ignored it. Its beauty could not reach her. Her thoughts and hands were too busy. Her fingers went cold as they worked away at her own arrangement, becoming numb and stiff from frustration.

Hisana _hated_ ikebana.

She admired her captain's skill in the art, but she _loathed_ making her own arrangements. Hisana had the artistic ability of a rabid squirrel. Describing her works as, '_ugly,'_ would have been faint praise.

"Vice Captain," Unohana said gently observing her subordinate's latest efforts.

Hisana, however, missed her captain's soft words. Her thoughts sounded so loudly in her head that she did not acknowledge Unohana until the good captain raised her voice.

"Hisana!" Unohana said sternly. The captain's placid demeanor melted until she was staring in horror at the mangled mess Hisana had fashioned. "The plants are _living_. They deserve tenderness and respect."

Hisana grimaced. Well, her plants weren't living _now_. She had snapped several crucial roots in her haste.

"Your thoughts, Vice Captain, are loud today," Unohana observed, folding her hands in her lap.

Hisana nodded. "I will go."

"You do not have to dismiss yourself," Unohana said, softening her voice and look.

Hisana shook her head. "No. I will offer my power."

Unohana cocked her head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"The vambrace chose me. I will go."

Unohana stared at her. Concern darkened her eyes and marked her face. A pause pregnant with tense reflection passed over them. "You know what this decision entails," Unohana stated at last.

Hisana lifted her head. It took all her strength to lock eyes with her captain. She did not flinch at her captain's piercing look. Unohana's brow bent, and her lips sloped into a contemplative frown. It was not a look of disapproval, however. "Yes, Captain, I am prepared to make that sacrifice."

"I do not require it of you."

Hisana frowned. "I know. I refuse to require my subordinates to go in my stead."

Unohana smiled faintly. "Not all of the others are your subordinates."

Hisana's eyes widened, and her complexion blanched. Of course! her thoughts screamed. The vambrace would choose Unohana as well. "My apologies," Hisana said, bowing toward her captain. "In that case, I must go."

Unohana shook her head, but she did not speak a word.

"In this world, some lives are worth more than others. Some lives can be spared. Your life, my Captain, cannot. Mine can. Let me go."

"Vice Captain," Unohana said warningly, tilting her head to the side. She had that look—the type of mothering look that she wore when her subordinates said or did something paralyzing stupid. It was not rancor. No. It was questioning worriment.

"It is my design, Captain. The relic responds to me. Let me go," Hisana said pleadingly.

Unohana lifted her head. She appeared serene on the outside, but the telltale signs of anxiety lay just beneath the surface in her gaze. "Are you certain, Vice Captain?"

Hisana nodded. "Yes. I will have it no other way."

"I will inform the Captain-Commander," Unohana said solemnly.

Hisana sat up, stone-faced. "Thank you, Captain."

. . . .

Kaien stood dressed in his funeral best. It had taken some time to get his mind around the fact that Sōjun Kuchiki was _gone_. Sōjun had seemingly always _been_, at least in Kaien's life. The noble was a constant, and, while Kaien had many reservations toward Byakuya, he found Sōjun perfectly agreeable. A model citizen, Shinigami, and noble.

He tucked an envelope containing a tribute for the Kuchiki family in a pocket, and he signed a few papers before pulling away from his desk. "Are you ready?" Ukitake called into the room.

"Yes, Captain," Kaien said, standing. Swiftly, he crossed the floor and trailed behind Ukitake. He paused, however, a few feet from one of the offices. Helplessly, he watched his captain disappear down a corridor. "Are you ready?" he called into the room.

"Apologies!" his wife called. She, too, had a few last-minute matters to attend to before leaving. She greeted him at the door, and, nervously, she fussed with the pins in her hair.

"You look appropriately soulful," he said drolly, watching her fingers' quick nimble movements.

She frowned up at him as she secured the last pin. "I _am_. Lord Sōjun was a good man," she said, stepping across the threshold and into the corridor. "His departure is a great loss."

Kaien quickened his stride. "It is." Silence fell between them as they hurriedly met Captain Ukitake at the gate. A light drizzle of rain pelted them at varying intervals.

Catching a raindrop in the palm of his hand, Kaien glanced up. "How appropriate," he groused to himself.

When the two reached Captain Ukitake, the good captain stood with his back turned toward them. His head bent down, and, when he turned to greet them, the source of his attention was apparent. A hell butterfly flew away, catching a stray wind. Ukitake watched the butterfly for a few moments. His expression was inscrutable.

"Is all well, Captain?" Kaien asked, approaching.

Ukitake was rarely so guarded. He was obviously processing whatever news he had just received, and, for a harrowing moment, Kaien considered whether there had been another death. "Captain?" he asked more urgently.

"The key has chosen," Ukitake said, turning to acknowledge his subordinates.

Kaien stared at Ukitake, unflinchingly. His muscles became rigid, and his heart stopped cold. Time itself felt slower as he waited, praying that the sacrifice was not Captain Unohana. Then, praying again that the sacrifice was not a soul he knew well.

"Vice Captain Hisana."

Miyako gasped at the news. "Vice Captain?" she echoed, unable to speak the name. Searchingly, she turned to her husband. She looked to Kaien to make sense of the news.

Kaien saw his wife's distress, and he swiftly masked his own feelings on the matter. His gaze trailed to the side, and he inhaled and exhaled a few long breaths. Anger simmered in him. Any loss was wasteful, but a loss of a Vice Captain cut him deeply. For the most part, the Vice Captains were tightly knitted group, meeting regularly and participating in various activities and clubs. "What next?" he asked.

Ukitake grimaced. "A small party will be organized to accompany her." Wordless, Ukitake turned to the gate.

Silence blanketed the threesome as they traveled toward the Kuchiki estate.

Miyako turned to Kaien and leaned close. "Do you think the Vice Captain will come?" she whispered as they neared the manor.

Kaien stared ahead. He was unsure. He had not seen Hisana since the last Captain's meeting, but he had a sinking feeling that duty would force her to make an appearance. She would have to escort her Captain. She also had a personal attachment to Sōjun, having been his treating physician for many long years. "Yes," he said softly.

It was unlikely that many knew of her decision, anyway. The only souls that knew for sure were the captains. Possibly some vice captains were aware. Others would not know which was good for her sake.

Kaien, however, was wrong. If there was one thing about Soul Society that never ceased to amuse and horrify him, it was how word spread. "Don't," Kaien commanded Miyako. His words, however, came too late. Miyako offered Hisana a sad miserable glance from across the courtyard.

"What?" she asked, glancing up at her husband.

Kaien's lips flat-lined. His wife did it out of sympathy and camaraderie so he could not be too firm. But, Kaien was certain the last thing Hisana wanted was to divert attention away from the Kuchiki family at that moment. It was a case of bad timing.

Carefully, Kaien watched Hisana's reaction to Miyako's silent condolence. Hisana's eyes widened slightly, and her lips parted. Immediately, she glanced up at Kaien before turning her attention to her captain. She said something to Unohana. What, exactly, Kaien did not know. Unohana nodded politely, and the two moved deeper into the throng of souls.

. . . .

Byakuya stood quietly listening to one of his cousins as she offered her deepest sympathies when his aunt drew to his side. He glimpsed her in his peripheral vision, and he would have ignored her presence if his cousin had not suddenly started. "My many condolences," she said softly to Byakuya before bowing deeply. She backed away slowly before taking her leave.

"Yes?" he murmured, refusing to acknowledge his aunt by turning to her.

"It would be my pleasure to introduce you to Lady Nanako," she said, bowing low and signaling to the lovely noblewoman standing to the side.

It took every fiber of his being not to turn on his heel and leave.

"Lord Kuchiki," the young woman said diffidently, and she bowed. "Forgive my intrusion. Allow me to give my deepest sympathies. Your father was a great example of a noble. He will never be replaced." Her voice was thin and breathy. A good wind could have obscured it completely.

He stood watching her. She was tall and slender. Her hair was dark black, and she was pretty enough. He turned his gaze to the side when he caught a glimpse of Unohana. Silently, he searched for the Fourth's Vice Captain.

Likely aware of her nephew's intentions, his aunt brought his attention back with a sharp sigh. "Lord Kuchiki," her voice bordered on chastising.

He turned to Lady Nanako and managed a slight bow. "I am grateful for your kind sentiments," he said evenly, glancing back at Unohana.

The Fourth's Captain caught his look, and she offered him a warm smile. "Lord Kuchiki," she said, taking a few steps in his direction. "I know my sympathies cannot ease your pain, but your father will be greatly missed." She bowed politely, and, when she moved, she revealed her Vice Captain. Hisana stood an arm's length from her captain, clenching Unohana's Zanpakutō in both hands. She bowed politely. "My condolences," she said softly.

Unohana glanced past Byakuya, and she bowed politely before turning her attention to Byakuya's aunt. "Lady Kuchiki," she said, moving toward the noble.

Hisana watched, but remained with Byakuya. She glanced up at him shyly. "I am so sorry," she murmured.

Byakuya was just about to speak when an unfamiliar Shinigami passed. When she did, she caught Hisana's eye, and she bowed her head. Immediately, she gave another sorrowful look to Byakuya. This happened several times. It was perplexing. His gaze trailed back to Hisana. The question was written on his face, but his tongue could not find the words.

"Lord Kuchiki," Hisana murmured, bowing.

For a moment, Byakuya was about to respond to Hisana, thinking she had acknowledged him. He was wrong, and he realized he was wrong when he heard his name ring in his ears.

"Byakuya." The voice was strong and deep.

He turned to his grandfather, and he bowed. "Yes," he said softly. When he glanced up, he saw his grandfather regard Hisana with an impenetrable stare. Ginrei knew something. But, what? At first, Byakuya thought he caught a look of disapproval in his grandfather's eye, but that wasn't right. Ginrei would not regard Hisana with such a long stare if that were the case. He would not have acknowledged her at all.

Byakuya straightened, puzzled. What were these strange looks? Had something gone awry? Something involving Hisana?

Hisana bowed again. "My deepest sympathies for your loss," she said gently.

"Come, Byakuya, it is time." Ginrei stated firmly.

. . . .

The funeral was short, Hisana noted. Or, perhaps, her thoughts were so scattered, so violent, time just spilled forth for her. She could hardly remember anything that happened before or after Miyako's knowing look. She had tried so hard to forget her choice, but, at the funeral, all she could think about was her choice. So many things she _wanted_, no _needed_, to accomplish were foreclosed.

She felt horrible, and, in her misery, she traveled with her captain in silence. Unquestioning silence led her back to the Fourth and into Unohana's office.

"My recommendations—" Unohana began once Hisana had taken to a sitting mat.

Hisana shook her head. "I must make this choice on my own," she said thoughtfully. There was no point in talking about her decision. She had to come to terms with it. It was the most prudent course of action, after all.

Unohana lowered her gaze. A small motherly smile parted her lips. "Of course, Vice Captain. And, who have you decided upon?"

Hisana bowed her head respectfully. "I have not yet decided."

Unohana nodded. "You have three days before the next Captains meeting. You may select any three Shinigami among the 13 Divisions. The Captain-Commander will be expecting your request for provisions then."

Hisana glanced down. "Thank you, Captain."

"Of course, Hisana."

The two took a silent tea before Unohana had to leave to attend to some pressing matters. Before leaving, Unohana gave Hisana the next three days off to rest and prepare. Hisana had taken this as permission to take a needlessly long stroll. A stroll that she soon regretted when she found herself assailed by sad worrisome looks.

Hisana had been floored. She had assumed the transmission would have been delayed until _after_ the funeral. Such would have been proper. But, no, the Second had pulled the trigger too soon.

Miyako had not been the only one to give her silent look of comfort. A surprising number of Shinigami had given her dark looks or gentle squeezes to the shoulder, as if words could not express their sadness. Halfway through the service, the skies had opened. Sheets of rain came down. For a moment, Hisana wondered if the firmament _knew_.

It was still misting outside.

Hisana ducked into a small smoky bar. She was not a fan of small smoky bars, but it provided her solace from the looks and rain. Running her hands down her uniform, she rubbed out a few wrinkles and glanced up. Her presence went mostly unnoticed.

The bar wench gave her a small half-smile in acknowledgment. "Bar or table?" she asked, grabbing a menu.

"Table," Hisana said, taking a small pad and pen from a hidden compartment in her uniform. Seated, she placed the pad down on the table, and she began numbering the sheet—one to thirteen.

_'What have I done?'_ The question crept to mind with alarming frequency. At least once every hour, she asked herself the question. She shoved it away from her mind, most of the time. Now, however, she considered it. She was going to be sacrificed to end a death machine. The soldiers that she selected would have to escort her to said death machine, which the rebel dissidents guarded with their lives. The Shinigami that she selected would surely be going to their deaths as well.

_'No they won't,'_ she reassured herself. _'They will not die. Not if the group is small. Undetectable.'_

She recalled the past mission to secure the King's Fire. For some reason, the memory felt blurry, distant. The few days that elapsed in the interim felt like an _eternity_. Seemingly eons past, two large squads from the Third and Sixth marched toward their doom. They were no match for the rebels, some of whom had been comrades with their own Zanpakutō. Some of the dissidents were from the peasantry but were worthy adversaries on their own.

Yet, the squads would have succeeded against the rebels had they not obtained the relic. The squads outnumbered the rebels, and _all_ of the Shinigami were proficient soldiers. There would have been losses, Hisana was sure. But a Vice Captain and Captain would not have been felled.

The squads were too massive. They attracted too much attention. The rebels knew they were coming from leagues away. It had been by design. No one brings an army to a stealth mission. A report detailing the mission cited hostile conditions as a cause for its failure. Some districts supported the rebels' cause, and some of the peasants sent word ahead of time, allowing the rebels to prepare a preemptive strike. The preemptive strike caused most of the damage and destruction.

Hisana frowned as she recounted the report in her head. The nobility that ran Soul Society and led many of the divisions were benighted when it came to the peasantry. They knew nothing of the districts and life in the slums. They knew not of the crushing poverty, the famine, the blight, or the crime. They knew nothing of the terrain or even the demarcations among the districts themselves. It was all abstract theory to them. She knew because she had studied at the Academy alongside many nobles. Her mind fired off the little _nuggets_ of information taught to the nobles about the peasantry: _'Past the 50__th__ District, there is poverty. Beyond the 59__th__, the peasants cannot afford shoes. The peasants may be sacrificed to restore balance, but, first, permission must be granted.' _

She paused at the last thought. Her mind scrutinized the words. _'How appropriate,'_ she mused bitterly. Immediately, she shook her head, casting the thought away, and stared down at her pad of paper. Only numbers stared back at her. She had not even tried to think of the names.

It seemed cruel to write down the possibilities. A chill ran up and down her spine at the very thought. She pressed her lips together, and sighed.

"Drinks," the bar wench announced, carrying a platter with a white ceramic container full of hot sake.

Hisana nearly jumped out of her own skin at the suddenness of the woman's presence. Wide-eyed and trying her hardest to regulate her heartbeat, she watched the waitress set the sake and cup on the table.

"Complements," the woman said, winking at Hisana. She jerked her chin in the direction of several male Shinigami, who were watching her sheepishly.

Hisana went red in the face, but she raised her cup in their direction. They appeared somewhat relieved and reciprocated her action. She took a sip and averted her gaze back down at the white pad of paper.

Hours, minutes, _days_ passed. Hisana was not sure which. A few drinks had provided her with enough courage to write the names of all the Shinigami that she knew from each division. She was going through the process of crossing off names and had worked her way down to the Third Division when a voice roused her from her deep, intoxicated contemplation.

"So here you are!" The voice was rich but bright. Clearly masculine, but genial.

She glanced up to see Kaien staring down at her. For a moment, she turned to see if there was someone standing behind her. Nope. He was just looking at her.

Hisana blinked, hoping that her mind had given out on her. A combination of exhaustion and spirits would do that, or so numerous male Shinigami had told her when they were carted into the Fourth to seek treatment for their drunken "accidents." "Vice Captain Shiba?" she asked.

"Are you okay?" he asked, sitting down beside her.

_Blink. Blink. Blink._ He was still there. Still staring down at her. Even seated, he loomed over her petite figure.

"Yeah," she said at length.

She cringed at the sound of her voice. She clearly _sounded_ like she was _over-compensating_. Mostly because she _was _over-compensating.

Kaien turned his attention to her newest flask of sake. He picked it up and poured her another cup. _'Bad idea,'_ she noted to herself. She was certain that if she drank another ounce, she would expire.

He glanced up at the bar wench, who acknowledged him with a knowing bow of the head. Hisana caught her reaction, and she wondered if Kaien was a regular. Likely. Many of the Shinigami came to this establishment.

Within several seconds, the waitress returned with a new flask and a white ceramic cup for Kaien. "Vice Captain Shiba," she cooed excitedly. "Would you like anything else?"

Hisana's gaze flitted up to the woman drowsily. She wondered if the woman was a fan. Probably. Kaien _was_ famous, wealthy, skilled, and handsome.

Hisana glanced down at her pad and, realizing how close Kaien was, she quickly flipped it to a blank page so he would not discern what she was doing. So he would not see his name on the list. She hadn't gotten to the Thirteenth. She was going to cross through his name anyway. His name and his wife's name. No need to rouse unnecessary suspicion or worry.

Her sudden movement caught his attention, and she could _feel_ the heat of his stare on her. She was about to say something—anything that would divert his interest. She was too late.

"What's that?" he asked, eying the pad.

Hisana shook her head and waved her hands at the list.

"She has been laboring over that list for hours!" the waitress said, sweetly.

Hisana blanched. Her eyes went wide, and she shot the bar wench a heated glare. "Thank you," she growled.

The waitress smiled nervously before removing the empty flask and scurrying away.

"A list, eh?" Kaien said, watching her knowingly. "What kind of list?"

Hisana tucked her chin toward her neck, and her features hardened. "A list of provisions."

He smiled at her, shaking his head. "What kind of provisions?"

Her gaze fell to the floor.

"I know," he said softly.

Her eyes snapped up to his face. Searchingly, she stared into his eyes. What, exactly, did he know?

"Captain Ukitake informed our division of your decision," he said, pouring himself a cup of sake.

"Great," she said under her breath. She had really hoped to keep it a _private affair_. She assumed the Captains and Vice Captains would be informed. She had no idea that _everyone_ in the Gotei 13 would know. But, there she was. Flush with free sake and sympathy for miles.

"Who are the other _two_?" he asked. A boyish half-grin pulling a side of his mouth up.

"Other two what?" she asked. Her brow furrowed, and her lips pursed together.

"Companions. You get three. So who are the other two?"

She stared at him confused before realization hit her. She smiled wide at his bravado. "Shouldn't you be asking me who are the three?"

He gave her a perceptive sidelong glance and shook his head confidently. "Nah," he said as if he was the _most obvious choice_. Kaien Shiba was an obvious choice, Hisana mused. If his wife had not been a friend, she would have selected him as a companion. It was hard, however, to choose a friend's husband for certain doom.

"Vice Captain, your eagerness is endearing, but you have a lovely wife."

"I am rather fond of her," he teased.

"I could not do that to her," Hisana said softly.

"She _would_," he said sardonically.

Hisana nearly choked on her sake.

"So, who are the other guys?"

She cocked her head to the side and smiled. "You are sincerely incorrigible."

"It is part of the charm," he said drily.

Her smile widened and she shook her head. "I don't know." Her smile fell, and an apprehensive glint caught in her eyes.

Without asking or warning, Kaien flipped back her small pad and began going through her list. "Looks like a tough decision. Glad I don't have to make it," he said, carelessly circling his own name. "But you only have two more choices, now. Thank me later, at the party they throw for us after we deactivate the _doomsday device_."

Hisana lowered her head. "I don't think that is how it works."

He dropped the pad to the table. "But it will. I will see to it."

Drunkenly, she gazed up into his clear blue eyes. For a flicker, his confidence convinced her. Maybe there was a workaround. Hope swelled in her chest for that brief second only to be quashed by stark rationality.

"Come," he said, helping her up, "looks like you need a designated walker."

. . . .

Byakuya sat quietly watching his aunt as she fussed with fabric swatches and other things. "Is my presence necessary?" The unspoken part of his observation was "because you appear to be doing _just fine_ without me."

"Of course!" she snapped, glaring at him. "Lady Nanako will appreciate this if you put some effort into it."

His gaze wandered to the window. The leaves stood out brightly against the gloomy gray storm clouds. The rain had ceased, but the clouds hovered threateningly overhead. It had rained for three days straight. Three horrible days. The pond was beginning to inch closer to the estate, he noted, lowering his gaze to the diverted stream. He was sure the koi were having a field day. So much space to roam and new food sources.

Suddenly, he wished he were a koi. To swim freely, unhindered by a disapproving glare. "Yes," he sighed, turning back to his aunt.

"Red or violet?" she held up the fabric samples as if they meant something to him.

He stared blankly at her.

"Red or violet?" she repeated. Her voice had an edge to it, he noted. She was growing impatient at about the same pace he was growing restless.

He frowned. "Violet," he said, glancing back to the window.

"Undying love," she murmured, "how appropriate." She discarded the red swatches and began searching the violet ones for an appropriate pattern. "Violet and blue?"

Byakuya was staring so deeply into the gray that he did not hear his aunt's question. His thoughts purged from all the stress. Finding a source of respite, his gaze lingered on the sky for a few long moments.

"Byakuya!" she growled, frustrated with her nephew's sudden listlessness.

His gaze slowly drifted to her.

Reading his bored look, she shook her head. "You will be married in a few weeks' time. You really ought to be paying closer attention."

He bristled at the timeline.

Her lips sloped into a frown. "I couldn't make spring happen," she said, wistfully. "Your grandfather insists on an autumn wedding."

Byakuya shifted. His expression smoothed into a look of apathy. He chained his feelings and locked them away to rot, and he returned to staring out the window. His thoughts drew to the Vice Captain of the Fourth. He had tried to tame his interest in her. He tried to dull it, numb it. But the more he tried to stuff it down, the more it bobbled back up to the surface like a stubborn buoy.

He hadn't seen her in _days_. Not since the funeral. Dressed in her uniform, dutifully holding her captain's Zanpakutō. She had been absent from his life since that day, and he wondered if he would ever see her again. His family would likely relieve her of her duties to them now that his father was dead.

Instinctively, he turned his gaze, piercing and harsh, to his aunt.

"Your tea has been cancelled," she noted matter-of-factly, as if she could read his thoughts. Sometimes she could be so astute. She could see through him as if his thoughts were transparent.

"With the Vice Captain of the Fourth?" he asked.

His aunt started at his question. No, she had not read his thoughts. There was another tea. One he had simply forgotten about.

"I suppose you will not be seeing much more of _her_," she said, narrowing her gaze.

His brow furrowed and his jaws clenched. "I could employ her," he murmured defiantly.

His aunt's lips curled into a devious smile. "You could," she began in a melodic voice, "but it wouldn't matter since she will be dead soon."

Byakuya's eyes widened. His blood ran cold, and his heart fluttered. "What?" he demanded to know more than questioned.

His aunt's smile faded into a sour smirk, and she began examining the quality of the patterns again. "She is the sacrifice, Byakuya. In a few weeks, she will be mourned and her ashes buried."

He stared out in shock. His brain stopped working. It felt like he was short-circuiting. His neurons sparked under his skin, and a fuzzy white noise sounded in his ears. Hisana was the sacrifice? It didn't make sense. She was a Vice Captain, and a powerful healer. To sacrifice her would be such a waste.

"You look surprised," his aunt's voice cut through his dense mental fog. She shot him a pityingly glance. "She will make her request for provisions in a few days, and she will venture out into the hinterland. I sincerely hope that the three Shinigami she selects make it back alive."

He blinked. "Three Shinigami?" he asked.

"Yes, she is allowed to select any three Shinigami from the Gotei 13 to accompany her."

"Has she chosen?" he asked.

"I don't know. The announcement has not been made if she has." She held her gaze a few seconds too long. He could feel her eyes burning into his cheek.

"Has she canceled tea today?" he asked eagerly.

"No. A likely oversight. I would not hold my hopes too high that she will come. She has preparations to make."

Byakuya stood up. His robes fell around him, silk rustling against silk. He turned to the door, and he placed his hand against the wood.

"I will permit you to take tea with her if you will _finish_ this," his aunt said coolly.

He turned to her.

"I have ordered the guards to send her away. I will take back that order if you _sit down_ and help me select the most heartfelt kimono for Lady Nanako."

Byakuya obliged her, and she nimbly summoned a servant. "I believe there has been some confusion with regard to Lord Kuchiki's schedule. If the Vice Captain of the Fourth makes an appearance, please allow her entrance, and be sure to fetch the young master," she said in the most saccharine of voices.

"Yes, milady," he said, bowing deeply.

Byakuya waited for hours, half-heartedly going through the painstaking details of women's fashion. It was awful, and, briefly, he wondered if his father had to endure such monotony for his mother's sake.

Seeing her nephew's disdain, his aunt pursed her lips together. "If this were the Vice Captain," she said, the words strangling in her throat, "what would you select?" It was a hard pill to swallow, but she did so out of a fondness of her nephew. He had received enough bad news, and indulging his clear infatuation seemed perfectly harmless since the source of his interest would be dead in a few days.

He stared at her. "I would start over," he said evenly.

He could tell that his aunt wanted to strangle him.

A well-timed knock, however, silenced his aunt's tirade. "Lord Kuchiki, your guest arrives."

Byakuya swiftly took to his feet and with a small bow he left his aunt to her strange devices. Closing the door behind him, he turned to his body servant. "She waits in your study, milord," the servant said politely.

Byakuya nodded and traversed the halls toward his study. His heart pounded in his chest the closer he got, and, finally arriving, he peeled back the door.

She sat in a light pink kimono with a purple haori pulled over her shoulders. She greeted him with a gentle but contemplative look. "Lord Kuchiki," she said, bowing gracefully.

He acknowledged her with a furtive glance before assuming seiza on a sitting mat across from her. Before she had the chance to say another word, he unfastened his Zanpakutō and placed it horizontally in front of him. "I pledge my sword to you," he said bowing before Senbonzakura.

Hisana sat horrified. Her skin bled its color, and her lips parted. With wide imploring eyes, she shook her head. "Lord Kuchiki," she began, but he interrupted her.

"I pledge my heart, my sword, and my skills for your protection."

"Please," she said, beseechingly. She reached out as if she could stop him with a wave of her hand, "I cannot."

"I will give you everything that is mine to give."

Her breath hitched. Her throat tensed. The muscles strained under her pale skin as she struggled to catch her breath. But, she caught the words rising up. His humility was too complete, too kind. It touched her.

Gracefully, she neared him. Her fingers caught in his tresses. Wordlessly, she bowed her head down, catching his gaze. His eyes were dark and serious and sad.

Her fingers gently stroked the side of his face, guiding his head up.

He straightened, keeping his eyes locked on hers. He wanted to be by her side. The desire was not rationale. It wasn't particularly pragmatic. But, he wanted it. He wanted to be with her until the end. Lost in her gaze, in her delicate melancholia, he refused to be refused. He wanted her.

"Lord Kuchiki," she began, softly. She tilted her head to the side, and deepened her gaze. The words were there. He could sense them. But she pressed her lips together, stifling them.

He could still feel her hand against his shoulder. She felt warm. She felt alive. He could feel her reiatsu, gentle but licking against his. He shut his eyes for a moment, feeling her against him. Breathing in her perfume, he sank into her. Reflexively, his mouth caught hers.

It was a sweet release.

The locks all broke and he felt the bliss of freedom for a few long moments. Timidly, at first, his lips pressed against hers, but, feeling her fingers catch in his robes, he deepened the kiss. Her mouth tasted of fragrant tea, and she was responsive against him, which only emboldened him. His lips roamed the gentle curve of her jaw. Her skin was soft, flowing tautly over her delicate bones. He dipped his head down, following the slope of her neck until he reached the shelf of her clavicle.

Hisana arched closer to him. He could feel her breath hitch in her throat, and he could feel her pulse race. "Lord Byakuya," she murmured, gently pushing against his shoulder.

The sound of wood clacking against wood only confirmed his suspicion. He turned to find his aunt looming outside of the door. "Lord Kuchiki, your fiancée awaits your presence," she said, cocking a brow. She did not appear upset or angry over the spectacle. In fact, she seemed to have been expecting it. Perhaps it was her warped way of making amends.

He glared at her.

His aunt inclined her head and gave Hisana an onceover. "Vice Captain," she said, nodding her head. After acknowledging Hisana, she drew back the door.

Byakuya inhaled a deep breath and turned to Hisana.

She managed a dim half-smile. "This is will be our last session," she said bowing her head demurely.

"Accept my offer," he murmured, searching her. He looped a finger under her chin and lifted her head up. Her cheeks were flushed, a pale shade of pink.

Hisana's gaze trailed to the floor. She refused to gaze into his eyes. "Lord Kuchiki," she murmured, pleadingly.

"I will not dismiss you until you do," he warned. But his voice fell short of a threat.

Hisana reached up and pressed a kiss against his cheek.

He shut his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to burn her very essence into his memory for safekeeping. He wanted her to stay. He wanted to feel her presence by him always.

When he mustered the courage to open his eyes, she was gone. Emptiness filled him as he considered the possibility that it would be the last time he would ever see her again.


	7. Consideration

**Chapter 7: Decisions**

Sweet darkness surrounded her. It fell like a velvety blanket, growing deeper and thicker with each passing minute. It nipped at her skin and swirled down her throat, settling in her lungs. She felt like she was breathing in twilight.

Hisana glanced up into the sky. A thousand silvery pinpricks of light filled the firmament. It was beautiful. It was serene. It filled the spirit and eased the mind.

She stared into the black and silver for a while. How much she wished to be among the stars. To be free, shining, and steady. Her heart swelled. How long would she have to enjoy their stark majesty? How long would she be able to enjoy their silent beauty, staring down at her from on high like the judgment of a god? The questions rankled her heart and turned her stomach.

There were so many things that she would miss. There were so many opportunities foregone. There were so many wrongs that she needed to right. All gone. In a few short days, it would all vanish—evaporate—in front of her. All of her hopes and dreams and silent promises would scatter like her remains on some hateful wind.

Hisana shook her head.

There was no use in moping. No use at all, she told herself. All she could do was breath in and out and enjoy the little time she had left.

Stress, however, weighed heavy in her heart and locked her muscles in tight torsion. The fibers in her neck felt like tautly pulled rubber bands. Pain gnawed on her sinews, plucking the threads of her nerves and muscles in a painful melody. Her head pounded and a strange white noise filled her ears, drowning out the world around her.

The crickets' chirping, the frogs' bellowing, and the babbling of the spring water were inaudible to her mind. Her thoughts and her heart quickened. A heavy drumming din shielded her from nature's canorous humming.

Then it stopped.

Her thoughts ceased their hideous noise. Her heart stopped its doleful beating. The blood pounding through her slowed its current. The stress dissipated.

She turned, feeling the calmness pull her. It was something _other_. The source of her sudden tranquility was external. It was familiar. She knew what it was, but her mind refused to believe it. It refused to believe it until her eyes perceived it.

She smiled. A sweet closed-lipped smile. Her eyes, large and searching, reflected the moonbeams, and she bowed her head. There was no need to speak. To speak would have been too abrasive, too cutting.

He watched her for a moment before taking a seat beside her. In silence, they stared into the dark water lapping at the stony bank. She smoothed the blanket out for him before gazing into the sky reflected in the black waters.

For a moment, she didn't feel alone. Her soul quieted. Perhaps because she had company, she denied the effusive feeling rising in her chest. Perhaps his presence forced her to transform into something that she was not truly. But, it did not feel that way. Indeed, it _felt_ like his presence _calmed_ her. She felt tethered to the here and now. She felt fixed. She felt _real_.

"My offer stands," he said, quietly. Too quietly. She could barely hear him above the susurrus of leaves against a quick breeze.

Her eyes drifted to him, and she lowered her head. She let the moment pass, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. "Congratulations," she said, hoping to digress. "You passed your examinations." The words came out on a listless breath.

He started at her observation. Surely, he was prepared for her to rebuff him, or, at the very least, to acknowledge his offer. She did not. She could tell this unnerved him, and she offered him a conciliatory smile. "Your position will be with the Sixth?" she asked, knowing the answer.

He nodded.

"Seated?"

He hesitated. "Uncertain."

"Of course," she said. Her bright eyes trailed back to the spring. "Assignments take a day or two to process." Her statement was sharp, rebuking. She knew the process, but she had simply forgotten what it was like to embark on such a road. It felt so foreign now.

"I am a Shinigami," he said.

She perked up. She wondered if he was just realizing his commitment. Perhaps it was the first time he had actually considered the implications of _passing_ the examination. Perhaps, he meant to say something else. She could feel his gaze on her, hopeful. _'Oh, yeah,'_ she moaned inwardly, _'He has checked off all the requisites for the task.'_ There was only one, to be truthful—be a Shinigami. She could only select from among the Shinigami. There were other caveats. Unspoken caveats: She could not select a captain. No, that would have been _improper_. She could only select Vice Captains or lower ranked men. She should select _warriors_. To choose a healer would have smarted, stepped on too many toes. It would have been a _waste_. She shouldn't select high nobles. Such was not her charge. They were _above _her, like captains.

Byakuya Kuchiki was above her, like a captain. She took solace in his offer, but she took even more solace in knowing that she could never choose him because he was not a Shinigami. Now, he was a Shinigami, but he was also a high noble. He was the heir to the Kuchiki title. He would succeed Ginrei. He could not be spared.

Hisana turned to him. Her gaze was soft and gentle. "Lord Kuchiki," she murmured. Through the shade, her bright eyes pleaded with him to rescind his offer.

"I wish to avenge my father. My family deserves this. It is deserves to reclaim its pride—the pride that was stolen from it," he said, astutely reading her look. Appeals to their friendship would not convince her. Even though he _wanted_ to protect _her_. He also wanted to avenge his father's name. It was the only primary reason that could sway her, he was certain.

Hisana's look darkened at his retort. She assumed such was a motivating factor. She _knew_ he would want to salvage his father's memory. To save it, to preserve it. A small smile cracked her lips, and she averted her gaze to the pale grey rocks shimmering in the moonlight.

"I think your family would lock me away."

"Good!" he said drily.

For a brief moment, she wondered if that had been his plan all along. She chuckled at the thought: Her speaking the wrong name could send her to a tower. Locked away forever. "Sir Byakuya," she said, covering her mouth as she giggled at the very idea. As soon as the words escaped her, she cupped her lips and glanced up at him, wide-eyed and apologetic. She hadn't meant to refer to him so commonly. It was out of habit. She had not quite acclimated to his new position. She had not quite come to grips with the death of Sōjun.

He did not bat an eye at her faux pas. Perhaps he, too, had not grown accustomed to the sudden formality. In fact, the title seemed to smart when she spoke it. He would turn his cheek and gaze off into the middle distance.

She blushed as he gazed down at her. His eyes could be so intense. It made her feel shallow and clear, like a puddle. He melted her with a look. She hated it, and she loved it all at once. She was not a humble woman naturally, but he made her humble. He forced her to see her humility. He forced her to face her mortality.

She inhaled a deep breath, and she held it. It burned her lungs. She closed her eyes, and lifted her head into the night's chill. It felt thick and heavy. It roused her senses and mind. Then, she felt a warmth pooling in her hand. She didn't have to open her eyes to see it, but she did. His fingers curled around hers, and she breathed easy.

She was not alone. No, she was tethered. She was connected to something, to someone. And, when her gaze moved up to meet his, she saw something she had never seen before. A sweet tender look softened the edges of eyes. His eyes were grey—like a storm cloud—and for a moment they cleared. The mystery, the sternness—it all faded away. She could see him for a moment. Unguarded.

She smiled up at him with a soft look in her eyes. She curled her fingers around his, and she inhaled. The breath was fragrant. She could almost _taste_ him. Memories of a day prior flooded her mind. The way he had bent her head back and kissed her. She had broken her vow then. She had promised to move when she saw his look, but she had not.

It was her first kiss, and she suspected it would be her last. She couldn't let the moment escape her. Not knowing what she knew. It was harmless. She would be dead soon. He would survive her, and he would lead a perfectly noble life. The memory of her lips against his would fade with age. It would be replaced by many other kisses. Kisses from women who deserved his affection—who deserved his attention. It would be replaced by myriad adventures and achievements. It would be replaced by new acquaintances, rivalries, and friendships.

He would survive her, indeed. He would go on to pursue his dreams. He would go on to hope, to despair, to live.

Hisana pulled her chin to her neck, and her gaze lingered on Senbonzakura. Her gaze was empty. The sword, sheathed and tucked in his hakama-himo, was merely something to occupy her mind.

Byakuya, however, misread her look, and he withdrew the sword from his side. "It is yours," he said, offering the blade.

She blinked, stunned. He had offered his blade before, but it was a formalized offering. He placed it in front of him on the floor, and he bowed. That was traditional. That made sense. She knew what to make of that. He had followed the script.

_This_ offering, however, seemed inscrutable. She did not know what to make of it. What did it mean? Hesitant fingers wrapped around the sheath and hilt. It felt light in her hands. Lighter than she had first anticipated. It was balanced, perfectly calibrated. And, it was beautiful. Its shape and form were elegant. An effective killing instrument. She brought the hilt closer to her face to examine it.

Byakuya watched her. Her fingers, thin and quick, fluttered over the lavender wrapping down to the guard. She studied the lines of the guard with childlike wonder. Plenty of Shinigami had a similar outward manifestation of their Zanpakutō. Katana were common enough, but she seemed intrigued.

He wondered what her Zanpakutō looked like. He had never seen it. Per the Fourth's unofficial tradition (but tradition nonetheless) she did not carry it. Or, at least, she did not _appear_ to carry a Zanpakutō. Byakuya was perfectly aware that the manifestations could be small—daggers, small swords—or other items altogether. But, she didn't _appear_ to be concealing a weapon. Her gait and movements were unfettered. He did not detect any suspicious outlines under her robes. And she did not carry any item that could pass for Zanpakutō with any frequency—no canes, umbrellas, or hairpins.

"I wish I could speak to him," she said. Her eyes were bright and hopeful, catching the silvery moonbeams. Carefully, she handed the sword back with the same gentleness as if she was handing him a small child.

Byakuya straightened at her words. "I think he would like that," he murmured.

"What is Senbonzakura like?" she asked, tucking her hands in her lap.

"Stubborn."

She quickly smothered a giggle with the sleeve of her kimono. Her eyes shut tightly, and a pale pink color crept across her cheeks. Perhaps he had said a mouthful with that single admission? He didn't care.

"That makes sense," she joked.

Byakuya stared at her, and, deadpan, he asked, "Why?"

She shook her head, smiling. She knew he was teasing her, and, for a moment, she had forgotten all her troubles. Everything flew out of her mind. All she could see was him, and her heart felt light, playful. It was so easy with him. He was so willing to ease her mind. He was so willing to talk to her.

Her happiness, however, poured out of her in an instant. Swift and complete, the warmth left her body, and the noise of doubt filled her mind. White static clawed at her brain, unraveling her thoughts.

A troubled blackness seized her heart and strangled her breath.

"Thank you," she said, stealing a quick glance. Her gaze, however, was fleeting. Like the wings of a hummingbird, it flitted back to the spring. Starlight twinkled on the rippling water, gripping her attention and holding it.

Silence fell over them.

He looked down at her. His gaze and mind were inscrutable. He wore that look so well, so effortlessly now. When she met him, he hadn't. He had been hot, prone to emotional outbursts.

She preferred his heat. She preferred his rage to his reserve. She was good at cooling people down. So many souls wandered into the Fourth with great intensity. She had practice coaxing and placating men.

Byakuya wasn't injured, though. Conflicted? Perhaps. Torn? Yes. Injured? No.

He had been injured when she first met him. He had been injured and wounded. So many affronts all at once. It had intrigued her. The personal affronts seemed to sting him the most.

"Do you remember when we first met?" she asked. Her gaze, dark and solemn, remained on the dancing moonbeams.

"I believe so." His voice was low but clear.

"You were, what?" She struggled to remember his age. He had been young then. His hair had been longer, pulled back into a loose ponytail. He wore a blue robe, and his face was soft and round.

Reflexively, her gaze flicked up at him as if to compare her memory against him. His features weren't soft and round now. They were sharp and angular. His eyes were no longer large and probing. They were keen and penetrating. He was a man now, not a boy.

She had known him many long years.

"A child," he muttered.

Hisana shook her head. "As was I." She lifted her chin up. Her eyes glistened as she stared up at him, searchingly.

"I had fallen."

"From a great height, mid-chase," she murmured to herself, remembering the incident as if it were yesterday. "What were you pursuing, again?" She couldn't remember, or, rather, she never knew. She was new to the division when she met him. She was a mere orderly. Her task was to triage the young noble. She never asked him the questions that the attending would have. She asked him about his pain and took his vitals. That was it.

"A cat."

Hisana smiled, knowingly. Her look seemed to say what his lips refused: _Oh, yeah. Back when the Captain of the Second was a different woman. Back when Yoruichi Shihōin was the head of the noble Shihōin clan. Back when your father was still the Vice Captain to the Sixth. Back when your mother was still alive. Back when we were young. Back when we were hopeful._

She said none of those things.

His mind was perfectly capable of filling in the words better left unspoken that hung over them. "A hellish cat."

Hisana nodded. "You were a mess. All battered and bruised. You sure it was a cat? Not a _monster_?" A wry grin curled her lips up.

His expression softened into a small smile. "I am sure."

"You were so…" Hisana couldn't find the word to describe the young noble's emotional state. It was there, in her heart and flashing brightly in her mind. She could almost see his face, hear his sighs, and feel his frustration sitting there at the infirmary, plopped down on a gurney and staring at her with those piercing slate grey eyes. He wanted _blood_ then. He wanted _revenge._

"Angry?" he asked, caught in the same memory.

Hisana gave him a lingering sidelong glance. "Yes. I had never seen someone so intense. So locked in thought despite being so fractured."

He cocked his head to the side at her description.

"You had broken half the bones in your body!" she teased.

"I hadn't broken _half_ the bones in my body," he retorted slyly.

Hisana grinned. "Well, more bones than I had ever seen broken all at once. And you were so quiet as I patched you up. You were so quiet, but so intent on whatever plot you were hatching. I was certain we would never the see the Captain of the Second after I released you."

Silence again filled the spaces between them. She quickly realized her mistake. Indeed, shortly after the incident Captain Shihōin went _missing_. She was never found. The Second presumed her dead. A memorial was held for her. That was it.

"We never did." His voice hit a low note at that observation.

Hisana swallowed hard, and she stared into the waves lapping against the bank. "I am sorry," she whispered. Her words were breathy and somber—a soft amends for unearthing unpleasant thoughts.

"Yoruichi was foolish," he murmured, shifting in his seat.

"You're getting married," Hisana said abruptly. She was eager to change the subject to something less sad, to something _promising_. Her words, however, rang hollow. Part of her deflated with the observation and that was the moment when she realized it. She realized that her heart had betrayed her. She felt its cold thump before stopping short. An icy sensation filled her chest, caught in her lungs, and closed her throat. She wasn't sure if it was the upcoming nuptials that strangled her breath or if it was recognition that she did not _want_ to see Byakuya married. Which was stupid, she chastised herself. She _wouldn't see_ Byakuya as a married man. She would be dead. The thought alone, however, pierced her just as sharply.

He watched her. She did not hide her inner turmoil well. She appeared conflicted, like she had let a secret escape. "Yes," was the only response he could manage.

"That sounds exciting," she said, gazing up at him. "Have you known her long?" It took a lot of effort for Hisana to push away the thoughts of a day ago. Of his eager lips against her own. Of course, he did not know the woman well or long. Or, at least, he had not cared for her well or long.

"No." He was brutally honest at times. He felt he could be with Hisana. He had told her enough to know she did not blanch or blush at his candor. He knew her well enough to know his words would go no further. She knew his most prized secrets, or, at least, the secrets he would ever care to admit aloud. She knew them all, and his words had never haunted him. She locked them away, only to discuss her concerns with him and him alone.

She lifted her head. Their eyes met. "Is that common?"

"Yes," he said almost before she had managed the get the words out.

"When?"

"Never," he said boldly.

She flushed at the forceful way he said the word. There was a light that sparked in his eyes, and she believed him. Never mind how the conversation did not make good _logical _sense. He was getting married, but he wasn't. What did that mean? Her mind did not entertain such observations (like it normally would have) nor did it consider such a question (like it should have). She merely accepted the quiet contradiction. "Oh," she said, tangled in his gaze. His eyes were so clear, so honest.

He leaned closer to her.

The space between them diminished until she could feel the heat from his skin against her own. His head dipped down. The look on his face was soft but certain. She knew that look. She had seen it several times now. And, yet again, she broke her vow for she remained steady, unmoving.

He kissed her.

And she let him.

She didn't stop him when he deepened the kiss, bending her head back. She didn't stop him when she felt his hands against her. His grip was equal parts wanting and anxious. Slowly, he loosened her robes. His mouth was wet and hungry. She reached up, letting his kisses travel down her neck. A breath hitched in her throat, the moment she felt her collar pull down and over her shoulder.

With gentle guidance, he eased her down on the blanket, and he kissed her. Deeply, passionately. His lips were soft and supple against her own, but she could taste his sadness. It was salty and sharp against her tongue.

His fingertips glided across her belly, and she gasped out.

Her thoughts drifted, scattered. All she could think or perceive was the sensation of him against her. It was warm, visceral, intoxicating. Nothing else seemed to exist beyond the feeling. The world dimmed. Time slowed. Sound altered.

He pulled away, perhaps surprised by his own tenacity. Caressingly, she reached up. Her fingertips, cool and light, skated across the sides of his face. She pushed a stray tress from his eyes, and she stared up at him. Her eyes said everything.

"Please," she whispered. Her breath was heavy and warm against his shoulder. "If you don't now, no one ever will."

He kissed her, and everything bled away. The world became dark and unknowable. It became small and intimate. Fragile but complete.

The sound of fabric pulling against fabric soon faded to the sounds of heavy breaths and moans. They found each other in the darkness, and they remained unbroken through the night.

In a state of disarray, but clothed, the pair held each other. Both gazed into the sky. Wordless. There was nothing to say for hours. Both were too worried that words, harsh and inelegant, might break the spell. But, as the dawn began to break over the sky, casting away the stars and velvety blues of nightfall, Byakuya shifted under Hisana.

The rustling of his robes against the blanket sounded in her ears, and she stirred against him. Byakuya caught her before she sat up. His touch settled her, and she relaxed against him. "I have to make my decision today," she explained against the breeze. Silently, she prayed the wind's howl had eclipsed her words.

"I know," he replied soberly. "I will accompany you if you wish it."

Her gaze followed the vibration of his chest, hard and peeking through the dip in his kimono, up to his lips. She was about to say something, anything, but her lips closed. Something had changed. A cold wind froze her in place, chilling her flesh and stifling her voice.

Motionless, Byakuya gazed up into her face. He felt it, too. He felt the sudden change. It felt almost _atmospheric_ or _tectonic_. They were close—closer then than they had ever been. But, there was a rift between them. A great divide that could not be undone no matter how much he wanted to undo it

She shook her head. "Only I can go."

His eyes flicked up to the sky. A vibrant scarlet streaked the clouds, bathing the firmament in a blood-orange hue. The clouds held his attention for a few breaths. She knew some strange invisible thought caught him, consumed him. It was his defense mechanism for bad news. She wondered which problem he was trying to solve. There were so many now.

Each passing moment seemed to add to their problems.

. . . .

"Where is he?" A voice rich and quiet entered the starkly decorated room.

"Father," Byakuya's aunt murmured. Her voice was soft but assuaging, begging almost. Her gaze was equally as pleading. She had done a lot of pleading in the last few days. With Sōjun gone, there was no one else who could do it. No one else possessed the status or captured Ginrei's affection well enough to speak to him about such matters.

"What time is it?" Ginrei stepped across the threshold. His robes trailed behind him, creating a biting wake in his absence. His gaze shifted across the room. "Where is my grandson?"

Byakuya's aunt flinched at the questions fired in her direction. She knew perfectly well that her father knew the answers. It was time to announce Byakuya's position within the Sixth, and Byakuya was missing.

Byakuya went missing from time-to-time, she noted to herself. It was nothing so unusual. "He likes his strolls," she said, remembering the last time he took a wandering path to the detriment of his schedule.

Ginrei glared at her. He was displeased, and he was not above airing his displeasure. A stern look, a heavy breath—all were telltale signs of his discontentment.

The patriarch sat down at his desk in a small huff. Words caught on his tongue, but he did not brandish them. There was no use. His daughter did not deserve to be chided for his grandson's errant behavior.

Byakuya's aunt was about to make another appeal, but her mind refused. Instead, she could not shake a troubling thought: Byakuya only missed appointments that he found loathsome. His absence was always_ intentional, _meant to send a message.

His aunt shook her head.

This time, however, did not make good sense. Byakuya should have been _waiting_ to receive his grandfather. He should have been waiting with baited breath and dutiful heart. He should have been bright faced and _enthusiastic_. This was not kimono designing or tea with his betrothed.

With a silent command, Ginrei summoned the steward. "Fetch my grandson's body servant." The steward gave a deep bow before scurrying out of the room.

"How is the miai?" he asked before beginning to compose a letter.

Byakuya's aunt lifted her head, and her gaze settled on her father's steady penmanship. His strokes were fluid, hypnotizing, almost. "He is," her voice dropped as her brain scrambled to find the words. Nothing. Many words flooded into her mind, but none of them was _appropriate_. "_Adjusting_," she said belatedly.

His gaze flicked up. The look was brief, piercing. His blue eyes were sharp and perceptive. "Lady Nanako?" he asked, continuing his writing.

"She seems warm and affectionate. A perfectly agreeable lady if there ever was one."

He nodded mid-stroke. His approval was quick but duly noted. Byakuya's aunt was rather proud of her matchmaking prowess. Lady Nanako was _perfect_. She was adequately lovely, well-read, and charming. She would be a _perfect_ addition, as would her family. Byakuya, however, would hear none of it. He simply did not care. He was icy in receiving the Lady. His iciness did not warm, either. It seemed eternal—a tundra that would take millennia to thaw.

Byakuya's aunt frowned at the observation. She was going to sentence a perfectly lovely noblewoman to immense unhappiness. She knew Byakuya's heart was elsewhere. He would never accept Lady Nanako while the Vice Captain of the Fourth existed. Perhaps even after Hisana's death, Byakuya would reject Nanako. She had seen the spectacle a day ago. Or, at least, she had glimpsed part of the torrid affair.

She never spoke of her nephew's inclinations to any soul other than Sōjun. She had threatened to reveal Byakuya's affections more broadly. But, she had not. Ginrei likely knew. _Everyone_ seemingly_ knew_. It only took a good look to gather as much.

"He does not find her so agreeable." Ginrei's voice cut through his daughter's deep contemplation. He did not spare her a glance with his observation. He continued composing. A serene look smoothed his wizened features.

Her gaze trailed to the floor. "No."

"His affections lay elsewhere?"

She bristled at the observation. His voice seemed so disinterested, but a sly glance indicated that he found it amusing. She suspected that her father found Byakuya a constant source of amusement and consternation. Frequently, she heard her father chastise her nephew for his rash behavior.

Byakuya tried. He really did try to please his grandfather. She could tell that he wanted to temper his soul to match that of Ginrei's calm spirit. He was young, however. He would get there. She _hoped._

"Sir Kuchiki went on a long stroll last night, and he never returned." She turned to find Byakuya's personal servant bowed before the threshold. His forehead was pressed against the floor, and his arms were stretched in front of his head.

Immediately, she turned to Ginrei, who bristled at this sudden revelation.

That was unlike her nephew. He never went on evening strolls and refuse to return. He always slept at the manor.

"I sent a guard to locate him," the body servant continued, sounding panicked.

"There is no need," Ginrei sighed, lifting his head.

Byakuya's aunt felt the shift in pressure around them. Ginrei had noticed it before her, but it was unmistakable nonetheless. "He returns," she murmured, certain that Byakuya would be rebuked for his impudence.

"Do you know the meaning of his absence?" Ginrei leveled the question at his daughter.

She shook her head. "No." She had her suspicions, but she could tell that her father was in no mood to theorize.

"You have not been completely open with me," he noted. His eyes locked on her, and she could not free herself from his penetrating stare.

"I have," she murmured. He simply had not asked the right questions.

"Where was he last night?"

She stared into her lap. Her hands, balled together, created deep wrinkles in her kimono. She eyed the shadows of the material as she spoke, "I do not know for certain, Father."

"You suspect he has been somewhere? Where?" his voice was soft, but, to her ears, his voice boomed like the firing of a cannon.

She nodded. "Likely, he was in the company of another."

A knowing look spread across Ginrei's face. "I see."

A retinue of servants escorted Byakuya to the door. He entered with little ado. When he passed his aunt, she glimpsed his mien. It was brief. A mere flicker. But she could tell from his pallor, from his heavy brow, and from his icy stare that he was exhausted but not spent.

He bowed before his grandfather and acknowledged his elders with a forced greeting.

"You are tardy," Ginrei stated drily.

Byakuya apologized softly, sitting up.

Ginrei did not ask Byakuya _why_ he had been delayed. He did not ask Byakuya _where he had been all night_. He did not even ask his grandson _with whom _he had been with. He merely withdrew a small envelope from his desk, and he offered it. "Your appointment."

Byakuya took the envelope, and he placed it against his chest, in some hidden compartment of his robes. "Thank you, grandfather," he murmured, bowing his head in gratitude.

"You are ordered to report to the Sixth tomorrow."

Byakuya nodded his head.

"You are dismissed."

. . . .

Hisana folded the paper in quarters before stuffing it into a small envelope. She bit her lip as she sealed it. There was no turning back now, she thought mournfully to herself.

There was no turning back as she stepped across the hall from her quarters. She could feel the autumn's bitter cold sting her cheeks and her hands. She could feel the chill sink into her bone, cooling her blood and freezing her stammering heart.

There was no turning back as she opened a series of doors toward her captain's office. She could feel the heat of a thousand gazes burn her back. She could almost feel the air vanish to fuel a thousand gasps.

Definitely no turning back as she entered her captain's office. She offered the envelope to Unohana, bowed, and waited for Unohana to dismiss her. The transaction was wordless for now. The words—the explanations for her choices—would come soon enough. She had a few hours to understand her decision, to formulate a coherent thought, to fashion a persuasive argument. Afterward, duty would compel her to express her gratitude to the chosen ones' friends and family. Unohana would smooth things over with the relevant captains.

The four of them would then receive a briefing from the Second, where she would be fitted with the vambrace. Then, they would embark on their quest. In a few weeks, she would be a memory. She prayed that her companions would be spared such a fate.

She was certain that her companions would survive.

It was her design.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**Sunev.31:** Thank you so much for all of the reviews! I really appreciate them!

**Sky1011:** Thanks! The previous three chapters were written together so updating quickly was easy.

**Peachflower:** Thanks! So sorry that you have not liked my characterization of Kaien. I will try to be more mindful.


	8. Selection

**Chapter 8: Selection**

The darkness settled in the chamber, undisturbed by the light flooding in through the door. It was thick and heavy. It veiled the face, and it gathered over the eyes.

The Second was lousy with shadows; it seemingly _manufactured _shadows. A wise decision, because they surely operated under the cover of impenetrable darkness. Inky, dank darkness that blinded the eye and shrouded the soul.

Hisana stood behind her captain.

Her back was ramrod straight. Every muscle seemingly stretched up and locked. Each fiber was tense, vibrating as if invisible strings yanked them up.

She shivered. Or trembled? Perhaps she was shaking? She wasn't quite sure. Her body, wracked with exhaustion, could have been signaling its imminent collapse. Or, her body could have been trying desperately to generate warmth. She had gone numb with cold an hour before the meeting. Her veins buried inside her in a futile attempt to draw the warmth of the blood inward, but to no avail.

She could hardly feel anything now save for her heart. Yes, her heart pounded in her chest. It rattled around, threatening to sputter loose at any moment.

She felt like she had been plunged into a deep dark sea where nothing made sense. She felt like she was floating. She felt blind. All she could feel was the air current whip against her flesh. Deep rich intonations wafted over her. She could feel the words vibrate against her cheek, sinking in through the skin and bouncing against her bones. The reverberations sparked her nerves and added to her fluttering. Despite feeling the rises and falls of cadence and tone, she could _not_ process what was being said. The sounds did not make sense. The phonemes were scrambled—a strange collection of noises.

Unohana took a small step forward. "Yes," she said. Her voice was soft and serene yet strong—strong enough to cut through Hisana's mental fog. "My Vice Captain has made her requests."

_Silence. _

A sudden drop in barometric pressure became perceptible. The air rushed to fill the lungs of those in the room. The shadows, however, lingered, undisturbed.

"The company comprises four members, including Vice Captain Hisana." Unohana lowered her head, waiting for the prompt. In her hands, she held the envelope. The folds were loose. The glue no longer held it; the seal had been broken. Likely, the captain had examined the chosen names beforehand.

"The other members of the company?" The Captain-Commander asked. His deep baritone filled the room. He peered over at Captain Unohana. His eyes, narrowly set, gleamed under his silvery brows, piercing the shade.

Captain Unohana bowed her head.

Hisana's heart sank. It dropped straight into her stomach. She could feel her blood curdle in her veins. Pressure built in her head, escalating. She could hear her pulse throb in her ears until all could she hear was her rushing blood.

She squeezed her eyelids shut.

A procession of memories assailed her.

The memories were unasked for and unwanted: Each of the Vice Captains had offered his or her sword in the days leading up to _the final decision_. Each Vice Captain made the offer in his or her own way. Each offering left its mark on her, burning a hole straight into her memory. She pushed the thoughts away. She pushed the thoughts down deep, hoping to _forget_.

She could not so easily _forget_.

And, right then, right as her own captain was about to reveal her choices, the memories came flooding back to her, serving as a stark, naked reminder that some memories were unshakable.

Kaien had been the first—sincere and steadfast, like his heart. She remembered his boyish confidence in the bar. He had been so certain that he was the right choice. So certain, in fact, he had circled his own name. He was so supremely confident in his skill to protect. He had _earned_ his confidence—that much she could not deny. He had a warrior's heart and skill.

The next offer came from the First's Chōjirō Sasakibe. He had been genial, formal. His movements had been refined. His voice had been soft and elegant. She had _apologized_ to him at the end. She remembered shutting her door afterward—cringing at how _stupid_ her apology must have sounded to him.

The Second's Ōmaeda had bustled through her door at some ungodly hour. His personal guard or servant (Hisana never inquired) had stood nervously behind Ōmaeda as the latter explained the "situation." The meeting had been notable for two reasons: First, Hisana could tell that Ōmaeda was only offering his skill out of some misbegotten sense of duty or because of some _directive_. Second, she was left wondering if he had offered his servant's services in lieu of his own. She had shut the door behind him praying that no other Vice Captains sought her out.

That prayer had not been answered.

Not at all.

The Third's Vice Captain had arrived early in the morning. Sweat had dripped from his brow, and he had watched her with wide weary eyes that cast panicked and hurried looks in her direction. The Third's Captain had been a casualty in the battle against the rebels, and it was clear that the Third's Vice Captain was in over his head. Likely, a potent mixture of grief and stress had conquered his wits. Hisana had shut the door after his departure wondering if the mission would have provided him some _respite_.

The Vice Captain of the Seventh had nearly _filled_ Hisana's office with his stoic brand of cool. Hisana could not help but stare into her own reflection shining back at her from his sunglasses. When he had offered his blade, she was half expecting him to take off his glasses as some sort of token. He had not. She had shut the door behind him on his way out, wondering if he had even agreed to join her on the mission. (He must have, she assumed.)

The Eighth's Nanao Ise had knocked on her door at an appropriate hour. The Vice Captain was poised beyond her years. She had sat perfect seiza before Hisana, placed a very large book by her side, and gently offered her skill. Secretly tangled in a piercing thought, Hisana had managed an earnest smile at the young girl's perfect etiquette. Ise reminded her of someone—someone she had left many long years ago. Her age, pale skin, dark hair, and blue eyes were so _appropriate_ that it pained Hisana to look at the girl. "Thank you, Vice Captain," she had called to Ise as the Eighth's Vice Captain stepped across the threshold to Hisana's office.

The Sixth, Ninth, Eleventh, and Twelfth had vacancies, and, while their Vice Captains did not show up at Hisana's door, the Vice Captains' absence served as solemn reminders of what was to come.

The Tenth's Matsumoto had made her offer after a few drinks. Hisana didn't remember much about the encounter other than the goodbye. The Vice Captain had squeezed her shoulder, and she had bent down to peer into Hisana's face. At first, Hisana was certain Matsumoto, in her inebriation, would crack some joke to cut the tension.

She had not.

Glancing up and half-expecting a sloshy quip, all Hisana saw was herself. Her reflection shined brightly in Matsumoto's eyes. And, for a brief second, she had been certain that Matsumoto had seen everything—the good, the bad, the disappointing—and, instead of judging Hisana, Matsumoto didn't _care_. She _understood_. She saw Hisana as Hisana wished to be seen—flawed yet well-intentioned, brave yet scared, somber yet hopeful.

On that note of quiet camaraderie, Hisana and Matsumoto parted ways.

Gin Ichimaru had been the last Vice Captain to offer his protection. He had done it so nonchalantly. He had been confident, like Kaien. Supremely confident. Not that she would choose him. No, quite the contrary. He had been confident that she would _not _select him. The meeting had been a chance encounter at the market. She had been purchasing an apple. He had stopped to inquire about her decision through his enduring smile. (Hisana had not been certain whether he was asking about her decision to purchase an apple or her decision to sacrifice her life. She never asked. She didn't really want to know.) At first, she had wondered if this was some sort of payback for ruining his fun with Byakuya days prior.

Before leaving, he had petted her head with an affected fondness, as if he was wishing her an easy death. And, then he had turned on his heels, leaving her in his wake.

"The Vice Captain has selected three members of the Gotei 13," Unohana began, folding back the paper.

Hisana chewed on her lip and held her breath. Reflexively, her mind drew up the image of the paper. She knew it well. She had labored over the sheet for days. She knew its textures, its blemishes, its creases. She knew the ink she had used—its color, its smell. She could almost feel the bristles of her writing brush against the paper's fibers.

She remembered the feeling that gripped her as she put the names to ink. No longer were the names mere thoughts, subject to change on a whim. No longer were her companions imaginary, hypothetical. As she wrote down their names, saw the characters scrawled in ink, it all became real.

"Vice Captain Kaien Shiba of the Thirteenth Division."

Silence.

"Vice Captain Gin Ichimaru of the Fifth Division."

Silence.

"Byakuya Kuchiki of the Sixth Division."

It was brief, but she heard it—a soft stirring. Immediately, her eyes flew open and shot across the chamber to see Captain Kuchiki shift uncomfortably at the pronouncement. His contempt was clear even if his impassive façade remained unbroken.

"Captain Ukitake of the Thirteenth Division, do you agree to this arrangement?" The Captain-Commander turned to his protégé with a guarded look.

"Yes," Ukitake stated.

"Captain Aizen of the Fifth Division, do you agree to this arrangement?" Again, Yamamoto's voice boomed, and, again, the captain in question answered with a sharp, "Yes."

"Captain Kuchiki of the Sixth Division, do _you_ agree to this arrangement?" Yamamoto's voice dipped on the "you." Hisana's head bobbed up at the inflection. She wondered if it signaled the Captain-Commander's displeasure with her selection, or if the Captain-Commander was indicating that he perceived Ginrei's affront.

Her heart pounded in her chest, and her eyes widened. Silently, she prayed that Captain Kuchiki would speak the right word.

"No," Ginrei stated evenly.

Yamamoto unquestioningly turned to Unohana. "Does the Vice Captain accept this response?"

Unohana nodded. "Yes."

"Does the Vice Captain wish to _revise_ her selection?"

Unohana shook her head. "No. There will be three total, then."

Hisana bowed her head, feeling her heartbeat slow, and she breathed a small breath.

"The Second Division requests the Vice Captains of the Fourth, Fifth, and Thirteenth to meet at the Second's central offices at 1400 hours."

That was the last thing Hisana heard for what felt like an hour. An hour, however, had not passed. No, indeed, it had been only a few moments. The captains and their subordinates scattered toward the egress, leaving her in a quiet moment to collect her thoughts.

When she finally stirred, she clumsily turned right into Kaien Shiba. Horror swept through her, setting her neurons aflame. "Excuse me," she apologized, red-faced and bowing.

He shook his head at her. "Byakuya?" he murmured, teasingly.

She glanced up at him. A small wry smile bent the corners of her lips. "Four would have been an unacceptable number."

He perked up at the realization that _she had counted on Ginrei's refusal._

"Did you ever hear the story about the three arrows?" she asked with a breezy smile.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**Rose Attack:** Thanks for the catch! It is corrected. The four as an unacceptable number is a reference to four being an "unlucky" number. (No small wonder why the Fourth division is the medical unit in the Bleachverse.) I will try to include the story of the three arrows in a subsequent chapter.


	9. Defiance

**Chapter 9: Defiance **

"It is a lovely day." Lady Nanako's voice pulled at Byakuya's strings of awareness.

"A bit cool though," she observed, feeling his gaze heat her cheek. Gracefully, she brought her teacup to her brightly painted lips. As she took a sip, her large eyes loomed over the brim of the cup, watching him intently.

She _knew_ something was weighing on his mind. Even if she swept her intuition away with mindless words, she knew he was uncomfortable all the same.

_How are you feeling, milord? _

_It is a lovely day. _

_A bit cold though._

Every time they met, it was always the same. They had tea in the room overlooking the garden. Byakuya would stare into the garden endlessly while Lady Nanako tried her best to focus his attention. She always inquired about his health, his interests, his day, his thoughts on the weather.

None of it _meant_ anything. It was all empty words with emptier purposes.

Byakuya inclined his head. His eyes, icy and steely, met her gaze. He wondered if she had discerned the source of his dissatisfaction.

_Probably not. _

She likely thought the arranged marriage discomfited him. They _were_ practically strangers, after all. He, however, did not think too deeply or too long about the pending nuptials. He had _other_ thoughts to keep his mind busy. He had _other _plans, aspirations, and hopes.

No, he was too preoccupied.

He felt trapped, cloistered in his head. Perhaps that was his grandfather's intention. His grandfather expected him to arrive for duty at the Sixth tomorrow. Not that day—no, not the day of the pronouncement. The _following_ day. The same day when Hisana and her band of travelers were scheduled to _leave_.

He would be helpless tomorrow.

He felt helpless _then_.

Waiting.

He stared out into the garden, hoping for news. Praying for news. Anything would do.

"Is there something troubling milord?" she asked, setting the cup down. The gentle tickling of porcelain against porcelain rang through the air, eclipsing her words.

When he did not respond, she asked again, "Something the matter?" She cocked her head to the side. A little wrinkle formed between her eyes.

Byakuya averted his gaze to the floor. He shook his head. The corners of his mouth sloped down.

A small winsome smile lengthened her lips. "But there is _something_ you'd rather be doing?"

Of course, he would rather be doing other things. His attention was clearly set on something _beyond _the room. He could barely spare a glance her direction, and words came at an even greater premium.

_He simply had nothing to say to Lady Nanako._

His feelings, problems, and hopes would have been incomprehensible to her. She was something _other_, belonging to a culture that was unlike the one he knew. She was not a Shinigami nor did she have aspirations of becoming one. Her father was an investor—a good investor by all accounts but only an investor. Her mother was a self-described _artiste_, who designed haut couture kimono. The _creations _were expensive and highly prized, but, to Byakuya, they were mere garments.

Lady Nanako likely had her own passions and aspirations—passions and aspirations that would have been unfathomable to him. Byakuya, however, was not intent on learning about them. Not then, at least. Perhaps not ever.

"_Someone_ you'd rather be _seeing_?" she noted perceptively.

Shock, pure and electric, jolted him. He was about to say something, anything, that would exculpate him.

Lady Nanako smiled and shot him a bittersweet glance. "Your feud with Vice Captain Shiba is infamous, but surely, you will wish him well."

Byakuya's brows furrowed at her logic.

Did she _know_ something? If so, how and what? There were so many questions, and he was in the process of sorting them out in his head when she interrupted him.

"Do you not know?" she murmured.

He searched her face for the answer. "Kaien was selected?" The words sounded foreign, mechanical to his ears. He could hardly believe it. When had the selections been announced? How did Nanako know? More importantly, how did Nanako know _and _he did not?

Before she had the chance to reply to his question, he interrupted her. "Who else?" His stony façade crumbled into a wild look.

She blinked, somewhat taken aback. Nervously, her fingers, thin and nimble, curled around the edges of her sitting mat. A breath hitched in her throat.

He could tell that his intensity unsettled her, but he didn't care. He wanted to _know_. He _needed_ to know. Anything and everything. Right then.

"Lord Byakuya," she murmured under her breath, "I am sorry. Vice Captain Hisana selected Vice Captains Shiba and Ichimaru."

"She was permitted three," Byakuya noted. While his tone was matter-of-fact, his eyes belied his sense of urgency. "And how do you know this?" His cadence was steady and strong, but his tone was incredulous.

Nanako lowered her head and scooted to the edge of her sitting mat. "My brother is a Shinigami. We were worried about him so he sent a transmission when he realized that he was _free_."

Byakuya's eyes narrowed when she uttered the final word. _Free_. _Free of what? Responsibility? _The sentiment disgusted him; it left an acerbic taste in his mouth. "Who was the third?"

Nanako lifted her head. Worriment danced in her dark eyes. "There are only three—Vice Captains Hisana, Shiba, and Ichimaru," she murmured.

He lost his sense of control for a moment. His restraints broke. It was sudden and unintentional, but his spiritual energy spewed forth, and she trembled like a leaf in the wind.

Realizing his mistake, he immediately shackled his feelings. His posture snapped up; his back became ramrod straight. His countenance became unreadable. His thoughts and motives were unknowable. He had spent _years_ practicing this face—a look that only revealed his sense of superiority.

He did not _feel_ particularly superior then, however.

It was a practiced sort of artifice.

Lady Nanako, however, was still gasping. Small coughs climbed up her throat and puffed out of her mouth. Pressing her sleeved arm against her lips, she tried her best to conceal the unladylike noises rumbling in her throat. "Lord Byakuya," she began hoarsely, pawing at her neck, "the Vice Captain selected another Shinigami, but the captain refused. My brother did not disclose this Shinigami's identity."

Byakuya's jaw clenched at the news. It would be highly unusual for a captain to refuse such a request. Offending the Fourth so brazenly would have been a foolish. No wounded man wanted to worry about the motives of his physician while he lay prostrate on an operating table.

The only unit that could be so brazen, so paralyzingly _stupid_ was the Eleventh.

The Eleventh's captain, however, would not have refused the request. The Eleventh's intense dislike of the Fourth stemmed from the fact that the Fourth assumed a primarily _supportive _function. This mission, however, would have played to the Eleventh's strengths—brutality. The potential to face rebel forces and decimate them would have proven too tantalizing. The potential risks were high, but the potential rewards were high as well.

That meant the captain in question was protecting his subordinate beyond what the boundaries of professionalism would have demanded. For a moment, Byakuya considered Captain Shunsui Kyōraku. Shunsui was very close to his subordinate, Nanao Ise. Hisana, however, would not have selected Ise. Ise was younger than Hisana, and Ise lacked the requisite experience. She wasn't _hard_ enough. She wasn't ruthless. She was intelligent, true. She had been a child prodigy. But, cunning was not an _essential _skill for this mission, and there were other _hardier_ Shinigami who were exceptionally clever.

If not Ise, then _who_?

As soon as his mind formed the question, the answer dawned on him, bearing down on him like a ton of bricks. His breath caught in his chest, and his complexion blanched.

_His name_ had been the fated name.

_His grandfather_ had been the captain to refuse the request.

_His absence_ left Hisana with one less guardian.

"Lord Byakuya?" Nanako cried. Fear glistened in her eyes as he stood.

"Excuse me." His voice was broken and thin. His disbelief was apparent.

It felt surreal. It felt painful. It felt like he had been punched in the gut.

His heart skipped and stammered in his chest. Anger pulled his breath as he slid back the door. A warm contempt churned in his stomach, providing more fuel for his vexation.

He knew what he had to do next.

He would ascertain the truth. He would redress the wrong against Hisana. He would regain the pride stolen by his father's death.

After all, he was no stranger to acts of _defiance_.

. . . .

"You announced your _love_ for Byakuya, and you were shot down?"

It was a little _too_ _early_ in the afternoon for Rangiku to be as inebriated at she was.

"How _romantic_!" she continued, waving her arms above her head in dramatic fashion as she melted into the couch.

Hisana stared blankly ahead. "I brought you a gift," she said.

"Nobles are _bastards_, anyway," Rangiku mewed, jabbing the air with her finger. She then snapped up into seated position and stared fiercely in Hisana's direction. "You know what?" Her brows curved down over narrowed eyes.

Hisana glanced behind her for a moment, praying that she had closed the door on her way into the room.

"Screw 'em!"

Rangiku _clearly _had lost her mind.

"Are you _well_?" Hisana asked, sheepishly taking a step deeper inside the room. Uncertain of what strange flight of fancy might next seize her close ally.

"_I'm_ _fine_!" Rangiku bellowed as she raised her arm over her face, her sleeves slapping against her cheek. "It's _you_!" Violently, she tore the newspaper from a nearby table and waved the flimsy newsprint in front of Hisana. "Look, it's you!"

Hisana took a few cautious steps closer. Her brows furrowed, and her gaze became probing. "Page six," she groaned, eyes beginning to roll up into her head. She exhaled a deep breath. "What does it say?" she asked, bracing herself for the worst. While she had to admit that the Ninth Division did an admirable job at putting together a newspaper, the Division _was prone_ to certain _embellishments_. For some reason or another, Byakuya had become the gossip column's newest target. (Or, rather, recycled target.)

"You and he clearly pictured! See!" Rangiku thrust the black and white photo toward Hisana's face.

Hisana lowered her head and frowned. It was a picture of them. Just how _clearly_ it was _a picture of them_, however, was up for debate. Their faces were blurry—the print was so dark and grainy—but the form of an embracing couple was clear.

"But, see here! He's getting hitched!" Rangiku pointed to the relevant paragraph. "And it isn't to _you_."

Hisana's lips thinned into a knowing smile. "Yes, I am aware," she said, reading the name.

"You're aware?" Rangiku seemed genuinely confused-as if it was inconceivable to her that Hisana could be _so calm_ yet _so aware_ at the same time.

"Indeed. It is probably his betrothed in that poorly lit photograph there," Hisana suggested evenly. There was no point in owning up to the truth. All it would do would cause grief for Byakuya, the Kuchiki family, and his fiancée.

Rangiku sharply snapped the newspaper free of creases, and she pored over the picture. "I suppose that is possible," she muttered. "So, you aren't in _love_ with Byakuya Kuchiki?"

Hisana's face hardened at the suggestion.

"Jeez," Rangiku sighed, sinking back into the couch, "Whadda relief!"

Hisana forced a conciliatory smile. "Here." She offered Rangiku a wrapped parcel.

"What's this?"

"A gift."

"For what?" Eagerly, Rangiku tore the brown paper back and squealed with delight over the sake.

"A parting gift," Hisana murmured, choking back her true reason—her guilt at snatching Gin Ichimaru away, perhaps permanently.

"Aw!" Rangiku threw an arm around Hisana's shoulders. "I think you got it backward, though."

"No, no, no." Hisana raised an arm defensively against the suggestion.

"Here!" Rangiku pulled off a small gold bracelet from her wrist and stuffed it in Hisana's hand. "Take it! It's a good luck charm!"

"Oh?" Hisana murmured incredulously.

"Yeah! I bought it, and the next day I won a raffle."

"What was the raffle for?"

Rangiku stared down at Hisana. Her lips snapped shut as if she was afraid a secret might escape. "Oh, y'know."

Hisana nodded her head empathetically. No, she did not _know_. And, no, she did not want to _find out_. "Oh, of course."

"You're going to make an appearance at the celebration tonight, right?" Rangiku asked. Her eyes became wide and probing.

Hisana nodded apprehensively. It was a strange thing—having a celebration dinner right before the three were to leave.

"Of course," she said, feigning effervescence.

. . . .

Byakuya waited patiently outside his grandfather's office. After an hour of silent meditation, the door creaked. His eyes opened, and he turned his head languidly toward the door as it rustled back on its track.

Byakuya was fully prepared to see Ginjirō Shirogane, the Sixth's Vice Captain pro tempore, emerge from his grandfather's office. But, to his shock, the figure that crossed the threshold wasn't Shirogane.

It was Captain Unohana.

The Captain of the Fourth smiled her farewell into the room before turning to face Byakuya. "Lord Kuchiki," she said, a mixture of apprehension and confusion swirled in her eyes, "good afternoon." She bowed her head politely.

He stood upon seeing her. So many thoughts and _questions_ flew into his mind. He had so many things to say to the Captain. He wanted to inquire after Hisana. He wanted to apologize for the debacle. He wanted to pledge his skills to the mission.

"Good afternoon, Captain," he said instead, stoically.

Etiquette stifled the words and calmed his heart. The feeling was fleeting, however. The instant she disappeared around a corner, regret bubbled in his chest.

"Byakuya," his grandfather's voice, low but clear, beckoned. Ginrei, however, refused to acknowledge his grandson as Byakuya stepped across the threshold. Instead, he continued to pen a letter. His brush continued to flow across the page, unbroken, as Byakuya took a seat.

Proper seiza.

Every muscle in Byakuya's body snapped into rigid position. His back was ramrod straight. His chest held high. His shoulders pulled back slightly. His gaze was piercing, and his face was inscrutable.

"You surely have some request. A reckless one, perhaps," Ginrei's voice rumbled, rippling through the air.

Byakuya stiffened. Ginrei _knew_ his purpose; he knew Byakuya's reason for being there in that office. And, yet, Ginrei could not have been less interested. It was apparent to Byakuya that his grandfather's decision had already been made, and no amount of pretty words or empty threats was was going to change it.

Byakuya inclined his head. "You refused the Vice Captain's request." It was _not_ a question. He was _beyond_ playing games—games that Ginrei was surely more adept at playing.

Ginrei remained unfazed. The bristles of his brush glided against the smooth paper. He turned the page and continued writing. "Was that a question?" he asked after the silence became unbearable. "I never stated that I had not denied the request. I do not understand your point. Try again."

"You did not consult me regarding the decision," Byakuya stated plainly.

"The Sixth is not run by Committee, boy. You would do well to remember that."

Byakuya studied his grandfather thoughtfully. His respect for his grandfather was boundless, but he could not abide this fate. "I will accompany the Vice Captain."

The words stopped flowing across the page. Ginrei set the brush down on its stand, and he lifted his head. A stony look veiled his face and his thoughts. Unreadable. Ginrei Kuchiki was perfectly unreadable. "Is _that_ a question?" he asked sharply.

Byakuya could detect the derision burning at the edges of Ginrei's voice. "It is a professional courtesy."

Ginrei leveled an icy gaze at Byakuya. "You are expected at the Sixth tomorrow."

The threat was implicit, but uninspiring: If he did not play by Ginrei's rules then he would be denied his position at the Sixth. "I will be serving the Sixth tomorrow," Byakuya stated matter-of-factly.

"You have _no orders_." Ginrei shifted in his seat, plucked his writing brush from its rest, and he began writing. The muscles of his hand were taut, and his strokes were clipped and tight. "You will arrive at the Sixth, ready for duty at 600 hours tomorrow. You will be given your orders _then_."

Byakuya closed his eyes and breathed a slow breath. "I request to reinstate the Vice Captain's orders. It is my last request as a youth."

Ginrei lifted his head and stared down at his grandson. "Your last request?" He seemed skeptical of such a claim.

Byakuya opened his eyes. "Yes. I will do whatever the family wishes after."

Ginrei looked unconvinced. "Your obedience is expected regardless," he stated drily. Ginrei, however, was all too acutely aware that his grandson's obedience was rarely consistent. The offer was too good to be true. But, one look into his grandson's eyes, and he was convinced that Byakuya was utterly earnest.

Byakuya's glacial expression hid his true thoughts. "It is my final request," he repeated. A resolute look set his dark eyes aflame.

Ginrei's lips sloped into a frown, and he returned to his calligraphy. "You are dismissed," he murmured.

Byakuya bowed before taking his leave. Reaching the threshold, Byakuya lifted his hand to pull the door back. His fingertips skated across the cool smooth wood, but his grandfather's voice stopped him.

"I hope a purpose beyond revenge resides within your heart, Byakuya; otherwise, you will perish."

. . . .

"Foregoing an additional comrade?! Are you _mad_?" Miyako had put on her best scolding mother voice. Folding her arms in front of her chest, she gave a slow disapproving shake of her head.

Hisana smiled weakly. "Four is an unlucky number?" She had _meant_ to give a declarative statement, but it ended up a question at the last minute.

"Superstition, now?" Miyako quirked a brow.

Hisana lifted her head, closed her eyes, and inhaled a deep breath. "Many years ago there was a wise lord, and this wise lord had three sons. One day, the wise lord gave each of his sons an arrow, and he asked his sons to snap their arrows. They did so with ease. He then gave each son three arrows, and he made the same request. When his sons were unable to snap the arrows, the wise lord explained that one arrow could be broken easily, but three arrows held together would not."

Miyako tucked her chin toward her neck. "I fail to see your point."

Hisana opened her eyes and exhaled. "Three is a workable team."

Miyako shook her head. "That wasn't the point at all. It is about teamwork. I bet if he had four sons, he would have given them _four_ arrows. Plus, what is the point of an arrow without a bow, anyway?"

Hisana's gaze drifted to the floorboards, and her lips curved into a frown.

Miyako cocked her head to the side as she thought further of the story. "And if you have three arrows and a bow then you have _four_ items. Just think of yourself as the bow, Hisana, and your companions as the three arrows."

"I believe we have digressed," Hisana muttered, unconvinced. "Here," she said, remembering the reason she came to visit Miyako in the first place. "I come bearing gifts." She proffered a small wrapped parcel. "It is ohagi."

"Oh, Hisana, you shouldn't have!" Miyako said, pulling the checkered cloth from the bento box. She smiled up at Hisana. A bittersweet look melted her prior disapprobation.

Hisana bowed her head. Her eyes fell to her feet, and her heart drummed a heavy beat. She truly regretted selecting Kaien.

"I know this is going to sound _stupid_, but Kaien has this _theory_. He thinks that it is important to die with close friends because, when you die, your spiritual particles disperse, and if you have a friend there then your spirit gets to live on with that person."

Hisana inclined her gaze. A small broken smile tugged a corner of her mouth up. "I don't think that sounds stupid at all."

"I was happy that you selected Kaien," Miyako said gently. "I like to think that through him, a piece of you and a piece of me will continue to be friends."

Hisana glanced up wistfully. "I like that theory."

"Here, to ease your thoughts." Miyako handed Hisana a cup of piping hot green tea.

At first, Hisana raised her hands, palms up to Miyako. "I'm afraid that I need to be leaving soon," she countered politely.

"Nonsense," Miyako insisted, "that meeting isn't for another fifteen minutes." She shoved the cast iron cup into Hisana's hands. "When Kaien gets back from training, he will escort you to the Second. You won't get into trouble if you are _both_ late."

Hisana gave Miyako a worried look before joining her on the sitting mats. "Vice Captain Shiba is training?"

"Of course!" Miyako's eyes widened as if it were only natural. "He takes this mission very seriously."

Hisana shook her head. "I'm sorry. I just—I—well…" She swallowed. _Hard_. Clearing her thoughts, she inhaled a deep breath before continuing. "I don't think it will be necessary."

Miyako tilted her head to the side. Concern glazed her eyes and pulled the lines of her face down. "Why?" she asked softly. Perhaps she had already ascertained the reason, and that was why her demeanor suddenly changed. Perhaps the _mere suggestion _that training would not solve _everything_ troubled her.

Hisana glanced down somberly. She could not quite speak the reason. Not yet. Kaien would soon learn why training would be of little if _any_ benefit for this mission. "It is just a _feeling_," she said, prevaricating at the last minute. Her brows knitted together upon hearing her words. She was _weak_, she rebuked herself. Her heart faltered where it should have held strong. Her words fell short where they should have been quick to elaborate. The guilt swirling in her chest and hammering at her stomach proved too much; it stifled her.

Withdrawing from her inner turmoil, Hisana lifted her head. A worried look painted her face and glistened in her eyes. Her lips parted, but the words slipped through her fingers.

Miyako astutely read Hisana's tangled look. "Oh," she said, taking a sip of tea. She did not appear entirely _convinced_, but she did not push the subject. "So," she began anew, her voice raising a few octaves, "who was the holdout?"

Hisana's brows flashed up, and she nearly choked on her tea. "Vice Captain Shiba did not inform you?"

Miyako shook her head, wide-eyed and amused. "He said it was of little consequence."

Hisana grinned. She briefly wondered _why_ Kaien found the identity of little consequence. Perhaps the Vice Captain had felt like he had dodged a bullet? Or, perhaps, he found the potential for schadenfreude too real. "It was Lord Kuchiki."

Miyako's smile widened as she stifled a giggle that was begging to escape. "Lord Kuchiki?" She was beside herself. "_Really_?"

Hisana shot Miyako an impish grin.

"You _really_ didn't want four companions, eh?"

The smile lengthening Hisana's lips settled more comfortably on her face, and the fear that once darkened her gaze dissipated. Brightly, she giggled at Miyako's sharp wryness. It was an honest appraisal on Miyako's part. There was no way that the House of Kuchiki would allow their heir apparent to embark on such an uncertain mission. Byakuya was too important to the fabric of his family. He was too green, having never fought in a war. He was too headstrong, too untamable, like a hard metal that could never be shaped by the heat. He would be too vulnerable.

Hisana was certain that Captain Kuckiki would protect Byakuya because it was _required of Ginrei_. As the patriarch of the Kuchiki family, he was charged with keeping the line unbroken and _pure_. Duty stayed his hand and steeled his mind. Of this, she was certain.

She was sure that Captain Kuchiki's heart would not waiver.

She _prayed _that Captain Kuchiki's heart would not waiver.

A strong voice broke through Hisana's thoughts, grabbing her attention and pulling it to the other side of the room. "Anyone here?" Kaien called into the room as he slid back the door.

Hisana imagined that the Vice Captain knew the answer to the question. "Good afternoon," both women chimed in reply.

He poked his head inside. "I thought I detected someone," he said. "Good afternoon." He gave a slight bow. "Are you ready to go to the meeting, Vice Captain?"

Hisana nodded.

"Good."

He held the door open for her.

Hisana bowed deeply in Miyako's direction before turning on her heels to leave.


	10. Lessons Unlearned

**Chapter 10: Lessons Unlearned**

Kaien and Hisana were the first to arrive at the Second Division. Two weary-eyed Shinigami greeted them at the gate, and escorted them to a large, dark antechamber. The Second was rife with large, dark empty spaces and even darker motives.

Patiently, Hisana and Kaien waited.

_Gin Ichimaru was late._ Hisana might have taken umbrage—she might have found his tardiness a quiet protest—if not for the fact that Gin Ichimaru was _always_ late. The rules didn't apply to him. They never had, and it was unlikely that they ever would. Gin Ichimaru's absence, however, did not particularly aggravate Hisana's sensibilities. It hardly fazed her. His punctuality, or lack thereof, was not the reason she selected him. No. She had selected him for a very different purpose. A very _specific _purpose.

The Second's Third Seat, an ever-changing face and name, strode into the room with his breast poked out proudly, and his arms crossed behind his back. Stopping in the middle of the floor, he lifted his head high and peered down at Hisana. His look was minatory, likely fashioned to intimidate lesser-ranked men. It had no effect on either her or Kaien. Hisana could tell that no thought or light undulated beneath his stare. It was an empty look befitting the empty chamber.

"Good afternoon," Hisana murmured half-heartedly. The sound of her voice distracted her from the room's cold dankness. It was a momentary diversion, however. The silence, like the darkness, lingered around the periphery and quickly encroached on the room's occupants.

The Third Seat acknowledged Hisana and Kaien with a shifty glance. "Vice Captains Hisana and Shiba," his voice was strong, "the meeting will commence once the others have arrived."

_Others?_

Hisana's brows furrowed. Gin was the only one missing. Wasn't he? Reflexively, she surveyed the room. Inky darkness and _nothing._ There was no answer to her self-imposed question.

_Who else was coming?_

She exchanged furtive glances with Kaien. Apparently, the Vice Captain of the Thirteenth was as questioning as she was. The sudden glint in his eyes and bend in his brows told her that the news caught him off guard, too.

Neither spoke a word.

A few painfully quiet moments passed. Silence hovered over them. It slid into the darkness of the chamber, threatening to stifle what little could have been said. Hisana was left with nothing to drown out the thoughts crying at the back of her mind. She had become an expert over the years at stuffing back her inner-most feelings, but the absence of _any_ sort of stimulation was making it difficult.

Her solution was to stand rigid. Each of her postural muscles reached up, like strings being pulled from the ceiling, and locked. Soon the fibers burned and ached, and, for a brief moment, this was enough to settle her thoughts. When she began to numb to the pain, she inhaled a deep breath. The air from the chamber—humid and cold—stung the tender lining of her lungs, but she expertly fought back the urge to cough. Catching her breath, she inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, keeping time with her internal clock.

Gin was _late_.

Minutes, hours, months could have passed before he arrived. He did not care, and he brandished his carelessness when he waltzed into the room as if all were well—as if his presence had been timely. He strode across the floor with his endless smile plastered to his face. With a slight bend of his head, he acknowledged his new companions. "Good afternoon," he said in his patented Rukon drawl; it was deep and thick, almost _melodic_.

At least, it sounded like _music_ to Hisana's ears. She knew the dialect _well_. It reminded her of _home_, or, at least, the fondest memories she had of _home_. (Which weren't many.)

Gin filed into line next to Kaien. He nodded his head. "Apologies," he murmured up at the Third Seat. "I was delayed."

He hadn't been delayed, Hisana noted to herself. To be delayed meant that one had been stopped, hindered by duty. But, there was nothing to impede Gin Ichimaru. Captain Aizen was scholarly and careful. He would have cleared Gin of all his duties. And, Rangiku had passed out on a couch, clutching a bottle of sake to her breast when Hisana had left the Tenth.

Repressing the urge to frown, Hisana breathed a small breath and straightened her posture. She was ready for the meeting to commence. Moments, hushed and long, passed. "Who else?" she murmured so softly that no one heard her.

Confused, she followed the Third Seat's gaze. It lingered over the door. Someone was missing. Someone she was not expecting.

_Who?_

With baited breath, she waited. With baited breath, she could _feel_ a sudden change in the atmospheric pressure. She knew that feeling. Experience had burned it into her memory, into her very sinews. It plucked a few happy strings in her heart. Her blood ran straight to her cheeks. Her jaw dropped. Her heart stopped. She stood frozen in horror as the door opened. A bright rectangle of light pierced the dark chamber. Only at the Second could the light be as unwelcoming and as brutal as the darkness.

Her body knew what her mind refused to believe.

It was_ impossible_, her thoughts cried inside her head. She had been so _clever_. So _sure._

"Lord Kuchiki?"

Byakuya Kuchiki paused outside the door. Light pooled around him, obscuring his face and figure. But she _knew _it was he. She could feel his essence meet hers before swirling against her. She closed her eyes and exhaled a long breath.

Byakuya soundlessly crossed the blackened chamber. With quiet elegance, he filed in line beside Gin Ichimaru. He stood stone-faced and donning the coldest of gazes. The coldest of gazes, at least, until his eyes met hers.

Hisana flushed. A bright shade of pink streaked her cheeks. A surge of heat fired through her veins, warming her soul as she stared at him.

She wanted to cry out in protest. She wanted to ward him away. She wanted to stop the proceedings. She wanted to _protect_ him. But, the words never found her. Her heart split in half before turning on her, stealing her breath and squelching the words forming in her mind.

This had not been her plan. Quite the contrary. Selecting his name was to be her parting lesson. She had wanted to _demonstrate just _how foolish his request was. She had wanted to prove to him that _even if she requested his skill_ that he could not follow her. She had wanted him to learn his place, just as she had learned hers.

He was _above _her. He existed in a stratosphere that she could not fathom; a sphere that was filled with protocols and etiquette that she had never learned and with expectations that she would never have to meet. Likewise, she inhabited a space that he could never understand, filled with battles that he would never have to fight and with scars that he would never have to conceal.

They were _different_. They were _incompatible_. They could never _be_. The light of day would have rejected them.

"The meeting shall now commence," the Third Seat bellowed, cutting through her thoughts. "There are three things to remember, to memorize and to _never forget_," the Third Seat began perfunctorily.

Hisana turned to the sound of the voice, booming like a war drum over their heads. Her eyes trailed to the floor, slick and grimy. She closed her eyes, trying her best to block out the words. She didn't need to hear them. She was perfectly aware of the fate that sealed them together.

"First, there will be no reliance on Zanpakutō," he continued. "No releases. Period."

The temperature in the room plummeted. Kaien, in particular, seemed the most dismayed, followed closely by Byakuya. Gin, however, remained still and unfazed as if the Third Seat had just announced that their mission was to take a leisurely stroll through a park.

"Second, all spiritual arts are disallowed."

Hisana lowered her head. _What had she done?_ Grief and horror crashed over her, like waves pummeling the sand. While her eyes remained glued to the floor, she could _feel_ the churning in the room. She could _feel_ the frustration and the protest.

"Third, Vice Captain Hisana will be stripped of all of her abilities."

No healing. No flash step. No offensive ability. No kido. She would be the deadest of dead weight.

The Third Seat then turned to Hisana. "Vice Captain Hisana, you are required to report to the Second at 0300 hours tomorrow."

Hisana nodded her compliance. "Yes."

"Vice Captains Shiba and Ichimaru and Lord Kuchiki," the Third Seat threw a stern gaze their way, "you are required to report to the Second at 1200 hours tomorrow."

Hisana stood static. She could hardly comprehend the world beyond her internal maelstrom. The blacks and greys of the chamber ran together. The movements and the chill of their wake hit her on a delay. Everything—every thought and feeling—felt scrambled. It was all beginning to bleed into each other—the ends and the beginnings. Somewhere in the middle, she laid. The colors, textures, and emotional inertia collided together until there was nothing but the black. Nothing but the darkness.

She felt alone. She felt horrified and empty. The sensations consumed her, swallowed her whole. She could hardly stand straight. Her small shoulders sagged under the great mental weight that she placed upon herself.

It was all too much. She felt overwhelmed. The world began to spin and spin and spin. Then it suddenly _stopped_. The whirling room stopped. The soul crushing feeling of responsibility, of guilt, and of impending failure just _stopped_. All there was left was a warm sensation climbing up her hand, like a firm glove.

Immediately, her head snapped up. Her eyes met his. Sudden and sharp, her heart slowed its clipped beating. Immediately, she regretted _everything_.

She had not taught him a lesson about the world and their places in it. She had not accomplished what she had hoped to accomplish—to show him that their stations in this life were forever apart. Instead, she had issued him a challenge. A challenge that he had been all too eager to accept.

Her fingers curled around his, and she lifted her head. All she could see was blue. His eyes, bright and resolute, stared into hers. She could see so much in his look—hurt, pain, and unwavering readiness. She wondered if he could see through her flimsily constructed façade. _'Probably_,' her inner voice chimed. He was alarmingly perceptive.

"Lord Kuchiki," she murmured, pleadingly. Her heart filled. She wanted to talk him out of his decision. She felt that she owed it to him. She felt that he should _know_.

Byakuya bowed his head slightly before leading her toward the door—tacit disapproval of the words that swirled in her heart and danced on her tongue. No, he did not need to hear them, especially from her. His was sure. His resolve was unshakable.

She followed him, unquestioning. _'I,' _she thought morosely, _'I am so sorry.'_

Kaien lingered outside, leaned against the doorframe. A cool look smoothed the edges of his face until he turned to Byakuya. The change was instant. He acknowledged the young lord with a wry grin and a perked bow. "So you're coming, too?" he asked in a dry tenor. Casually, he folded his arms against his chest.

Byakuya's eyes deadened, like a shark prowling for prey at the ocean's depths. "My skill was requested," he stated matter-of-factly. His gaze slipped away from Kaien.

Kaien smirked. He had anticipated Byakuya's reaction and countered it with a shake of his head. "Is that right?" he scoffed.

Hisana went pale. An unnatural pallor spread across her countenance, and dark grey circles hung below her eyes. She bit her bottom lip as she tried to contain the storm thundering in her soul. If only she could stop it. The world began to tilt and rotate again. Just like before.

_'If only…'_

"Are you well, Hisana?" Kaien asked, bending down to inspect her. He steadied her, placing a hand against her shoulder. "Hisana?"

"I will take her back to the Fourth's barracks," Byakuya stated indifferently. Or was it defensively? Hisana was unsure. Her poor wracked mind was beginning to slur things—images, feelings, sensations—together. She was not sure if she had hallucinated the entire meeting.

Briefly, she _hoped_ she had hallucinated the meeting. Byakuya's touch, however, quickly dispelled any illusions that she may have harbored. Everything was stunningly real and happening to her.

"How magnanimous of you, Lord Kuchiki," Gin called sweetly, waving his farewell, "take her to bed _carefully_." There was an undercurrent of scandal in his voice. There was always a hidden meaning or look with Gin. She hated to admit it, but Gin Ichimaru had a gift. He could wield words more proficiently than some men could wield their Zanpakutō.

Byakuya heard the comment. She knew because she could feel the muscles in his hand tense on impact. Momentarily, she wondered if Byakuya had discerned the innuendo. _Likely_, she mused. Byakuya was arrogant, but he was also _self-aware_.

When they reached the Fourth, she stopped him with a small incoherent noise. "Lord Kuchiki," she began, hoping not to inconvenience him more than she had already. "I," she began but could not finish.

He stopped and stared down at her.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" she asked, letting her manners get the better of her. Her gaze fell to the ground, and her lips pulled to the left lopsidedly. It wasn't what she _wanted _to say. It was just what came out.

Whether Byakuya wanted a cup of tea or not, he agreed with a small nod of his head.

Wordless, the two wound their way through the Fourth's barracks.

Byakuya had never seen her quarters; although, she doubted he would have been impressed or surprised, for that matter. The Fourth's Vice Captain dormitory was standard. If Byakuya had ever visited his father at the Sixth (which he had) or had aspirations of assuming his father's position at the Sixth (which he did) he knew the layout. It was reasonably sized for one person, and it was open. The sleeping, eating, and cooking areas flowed into one another. And, she kept it immaculate.

Quietly, she bent back the door and crossed over the threshold. He followed her, shutting the door behind them. Suddenly, she felt overwhelmed.

His reiatsu filled the room; it filled her. She could hardly breathe as she reached for the small kettle. Everything felt _heavy_—her hands, her arms, her heart, and her muscles. She felt _lumbering_. Her hands knocked into the kettle, causing a small stir as she filled it with water.

"Apologies," she murmured tensely, shooting him a small appeasing look.

Byakuya, however, appeared immune to the cacophony. Either her efforts weren't as loud or as blundering as she thought, or he was too polite or too distracted to care.

A few moments later, she emerged from her makeshift kitchen with tea in hand and an apology on her lips. "It isn't as good as the tea your steward prepares," she said softly.

Byakuya accepted her offerings with a measured look. Regally, he took a seat on one of her sitting mats, and he sipped from the cup. His disgust at the tea, if there was any, had been carefully shielded behind a layer of stoic resolve.

Hisana gracefully dropped down to her knees and took a small mouthful. It wasn't half-bad. It was not as good as the tea prepared at his manor, but it was not the _worst_ batch of tea that _she_ had concocted.

She took another sip, hoping that it would ease her sparking nerves. She inhaled a deep breath of steam and stared into the murky liquid. The tea was fragrant, warm, and bitter. The sensations _should _have infused her and settled her. It did not.

Feeling the sting of his gaze against her cheek, she raised her eyes. As much as she wanted to issue him one of her patented, 'everything is going to be okay,' smiles, her muscles would not oblige her. Instead, her brows knitted together, and her eyes darkened.

"Lord Kuchiki," she began.

Her gaze trailed to the floor, where it lingered for the better part of a minute. She didn't know where to begin. She had so much to say—so much to tell him. Her heart was heavy, but her tongue was stubborn.

Byakuya regarded her quietly for a few moments. His look was so intense, so probing. She had seen that look before when he was studying something—a technique, a spell. "You meant to teach me a lesson," he noted quietly.

Hisana smiled gently. His voice was unexpectedly sensual and deep as it hit her. Yet, another sign that he was shedding his youth—that he was becoming a man. Sometimes it took her by surprise. "I believe you taught me a lesson instead," she murmured.

"I suspected as much this morning," he said dispassionately, but his gaze betrayed him at the last minute. He was wounded.

She bowed her head. "Do you remember when you were first learning Hadō #33—Sōkatsui?"

Byakuya lifted his head. He remembered.

"We were on the mountain, and you wanted to _combine_ it with a melee attack."

"You told me not to," he said, recalling the event.

Hisana nodded.

"But I did it anyway."

Her smile dimmed.

"The spell backfired, and I was injured." Ascertaining her point before she made it, Byakuya's lips sloped into a frown, and his gaze darkened. "_This is different_."

"No," she said. Her voice extended the word out longer. It sounded wistful, almost haunting. "The risks are much greater."

He lowered his head. She was always looking out for him even beyond her role as his instructor. Even beyond her role as a healer. He knew of her gentle suggestions to his father. Sōjun never revealed his source, but it was all too obvious. She was always trying to protect him from harm, from harsh words, and from even harsher intentions. She was always trying to soothe him, trying to recast his youthful vigor toward more suitable pursuits.

She never gave him the opportunity to repay her favors, small or large.

"I will protect you," he stated, confident and self-assured. His eyes burned with the intensity of a young fire—a fire that surely lit his heart and heated his soul.

Hisana smiled at the sincerity flickering in his voice. He _meant_ it, and she had no doubt that he would try. But try as he might, his heart, sincerity, or confidence would not overcome the one constant: "I die at the end." Her voice broke the moment she raised her gaze to his. Her resolve failed her. The resolve that she had been building so carefully crumbled under his stare. The truth flooded her mind like the whitest of lights. She didn't _wish _to die. The longing in her heart betrayed her as she watched him. She longed to live. She wanted to redress her crimes—both big and small. And, staring into his determined face made her realize that her carefully constructed façade was just that—an illusion.

She shut her eyes. Her mind replayed her statement, scrutinizing each syllable and every word. There was a question in her observation. It rang loud in her ears and even louder in his.

_'I die at the end. Are you prepared for that?'_

She watched him as the words, unspoken, broke over him like a tidal wave. She watched him so closely that she could almost _see _inside him. She could almost _see_ the gears of his mind working hard to answer the question as if it was a riddle in need of solving.

"It doesn't have to be that way." His confidence wavered as he spoke the words. Defiance replaced the confidence that once emanated from his slate grey eyes.

Hisana's lips thinned into a sweet knowing smile.

Kaien had said something similar, and, like when Kaien had intimated the same, she felt her heart swell. For a brief moment, hope flashed inside of her, searing through her chest and taming her fraying wits. If there was a way around certain death, she was certain Kaien and Byakuya could find it through willpower alone.

"Come," she said, offering him her hand as she stood. "I have to be _prepared_." What for? She was too scared to inquire; although, she had inkling that it would include medical procedures. Nasty ones.

Byakuya accepted her hand and took to his feet. She led him to the threshold of the room, but her heart faltered as she reached for the door. She needed another minute. She needed the respite. She needed the sound of his voice—or hers—to keep the silence from her ears.

Apprehensive, her eyes drifted up to him.

Byakuya loomed over her, and she suddenly felt _small_ in comparison. It hadn't always been the case. He had always been taller than she was, but, then, he seemed imposing. _'Have I always been this small?'_ Her mind flashed on their first meeting at the Fourth. _'No. He has definitely grown.'_

Before pulling back the door, she fired out a question, "You are coming to the celebration tonight?" The question proved to be an adequate diversion for her knotted thoughts.

Byakuya stared down at her. His features were still, unreadable. She could tell that he was inspecting her intentions. But, she could be as hard to decipher as he was. "Yes," he murmured softly.

Hisana nodded and forced a small smile before turning back to the door. Again, her heart skipped a beat, and her hand refused. Again, she turned back toward him. Again, she was about to ask another question or make another trifling observation, but she couldn't.

"Did you mean it?" he asked gently.

She went scarlet. Her cheeks heated and burned with great intensity. She wasn't completely certain what it was he was asking, but the question invoked memories from the night prior. Her heart jumped inside her chest and nearly caught in her throat. "Mean what?" she choked out.

His expression softened upon glimpsing her state of disarray. "Did you mean it when you chose my name?"

Her lips trembled in response. The question dumped a metric ton of adrenalin in her system. She lowered her head, feeling partly defeated and partly guilty. _'Of course he would ask the harder question_.' There it was; the question that she had asked herself repeatedly. In her mind, she had _hoped _that Captain Kuchiki would intervene. But, her intentions when she scribbled his name onto the page shortly before handing it to her captain? She closed her eyes, and her lips slipped into a frown. _She was not certain._

She couldn't answer his question with words. It would have been too painful. Instead, she turned into his chest. His sweet smell—exotic spices and earth—lit her brain. She could feel his warmth soothe her with greater potency than the tea had managed. His heartbeat was strong and steady. Slowly, she could feel her own body synchronize with his. Temptation expanded in her chest before crawling up her throat, where it strangled her.

He wrapped his arms around her, and he pulled her closer.

. . . .

Effortlessly, Byakuya swung the door back with great dexterity. The resulting display was an elegant _soundless _motion. He prized such precision. In fact, he had _perfected _the art of breaking and entering into his own abode. It was a necessary skill, all things considered. It had spared him many angry looks and even angrier words when he went "missing" for hours of the day.

Securing the door behind him, Byakuya lightly stepped down the corridor toward his room. His feet made not a sound. In fact, he was practically hovering over the hardwood, careful to miss boards that squeaked from years of abuse.

Silent footfalls, however, were not going to save him. As he rounded the corner to his quarters, he stopped. His heart seized in cold refusal. He had been detected. He had walked into a laughably simple trap set by his aunt. Grimly, he wondered how long she had been prowling the hallway to his room. Probably for the last hour. Perhaps longer.

"Lord Kuchiki!" she cried. Inhaling a deep breath, she clenched her chest and sighed. "Where have you been? Your fiancée has been worried to death."

Byakuya's complexion paled, and the lines of his face became tense. No matter how hard he tried to smooth out his expression, he could not hide his displeasure.

_'I request to reinstate the Vice Captain's orders. It is my last request as a youth. . . . I will do whatever the family wishes after.'_ The words sounded in his head with the same volume as when he had uttered them. Apparently, his grandfather took no time to capitalize on his new-found weakness.

The Family was going to make him _earn _his request. He was half-expecting his aunt to announce his family had scheduled his betrothal for that night. Perhaps, they were going to ask for his DNA, ship it over to the Twelfth, and make clones for good measure. _Just in case._

"Where have you been all night and day?" she demanded, planting her hands firmly on her hips. "You were _late _for the meeting with your grandfather this morning, and then you come prancing in at dusk?" Her lips tightened, forming a straight line across her face.

Repressing the urge to scowl, he shifted his gaze to the open door leading to his room. It was dark. Inky shadows crept into the room with each passing second.

"_Well_?" she huffed, foot tapping impatiently against the burnished hardwood.

"To which question were you referring?" he asked, deadpan.

"Where were you into the wee hours of the morning?"

He sidestepped around her petite figure. "You do not want to know," he answered darkly. She _didn't_, and he was in no mood to lie to her.

She grimaced but kept her thoughts sealed behind tightly pursed lips. "You left Lady Nanako just _sitting here_ this afternoon!"

"Is that a question?" he asked, deftly reaching for the door as he entered his chambers. He toyed with the idea of just shutting it behind him, but duty stopped his hand.

"It is an admonishment!" His aunt's brows lowered, and she shot him a scorching gaze. "You will escort her to the event this evening."

He turned to her, brandishing the most civil look he could muster.

"You made a promise," she said slyly eyeing him. "Something about respecting the family's wishes until the end of your days? Duty-bound until your dying breath? Sound familiar?"

He lifted his head. "I will accompany her," he said stiffly.

"Your gaze will not go searching for any _riffraff_," she ordered.

Byakuya's eyes widened at the horrible epithet that his aunt had composed for Hisana. A cold stinging anger surged through him, building like an avalanche with each passing moment.

"And you will stay by her side. You will heap attention on her and only her, and you will escort _her_ home tonight. You _will not _go wandering the hinterland, and you will not spend the night in the company of the _uncouth_."

Byakuya stared at her, reticent to speak his contempt. He felt his contempt, nonetheless. It hit him with a great force, and it burned his stomach, like a bad wine. "Very well."

"You _will ensure _she has a pleasant time."

"Yes."

"Good. Now, get dressed. You smell like the infirmary." She drew out the last word a beat longer than necessary before shutting his door.

Byakuya turned his cheek and glanced down. He had not noticed it before, but he could smell Hisana's fragrance clinging to his robes; however, it didn't smell like the infirmary. The sterile scents of disinfectants, bleaches, and chemicals rarely adorned her. Instead, she smelled like flowers and wet sweet earth—the ingredients that she muddled together when making healing salves or pain relievers.

_She smelled of bellflowers. _

He shut his eyes and inhaled a deep breath.

He could still feel her warmth against his chest, burning his flesh. He could still feel the way her delicate form pressed against him. The lines of her body were forever preserved in his mind.

She hadn't cried or trembled. Instead, she remained perfectly still. She remained perfectly stoic. Her resolve had been shaken. By what? He had a handful of guesses. However, he never inquired. He was contented to have her in his arms.

He opened his eyes and exhaled.

He stuffed the feelings down, but to no avail. All he could smell were the bellflowers, and all he could focus on was the phantom sensation of her mouth against his. He wondered how he was going to hide his thoughts from his fiancée because the more he tried to stifle the emotions churning inside him, the more they expanded and chewed at his heart.

* * *

**Author Notes:** So, I split this chapter up. Initially, I had intended to place the celebration (which will be explained in the next chapter) and the preparation for the mission in this one. But, goodness that would have been too long. (The chapter seems long enough!) This chapter went through several incarnations before I decided on this version. I may go back and spruce it up like I did the chapter before. (Which also has a number of incarnations hanging out in my trash bin.) I decided to leave any intimacy between Byakuya and Hisana insinuated to have occurred in her quarters to the imagination. Hope you all enjoyed! As always, thanks for reading, and thanks to those who review! I appreciate it!

**Juliedoo: **Aw, thanks so much! I always wonder if Hisana was a member of the squads. Initially, I was not keen on the idea, but, after going through Bleach again not too long ago, it seems to be a sensible possibility. She struggled with taking care of her sister, which may have stemmed from a need to attend to her spiritual power. Also, her running into Byakuya would be easily explained if she resided in his home territory. Either way, thanks again!

**Sunev.31: **Thanks so much! Writing the scene where it is revealed that he is very much part of the mission was interesting because it is mostly in Hisana's POV. So, there is a lot of dissonance in her over this revelation. Thanks again! I appreciate your readership!

**Rose Attack: **I must have re-written that scene at least 10 times. Thanks for your kind words!

**Juud: **Aw! Thanks so much! Yes, you are very correct in thinking Byakuya is distancing himself from the Lady. I was also trying to flesh out her character as well because she obviously senses that he would prefer to be _anywhere else_. Hopefully, their dynamic is sketched out in the next chapter. Thanks again, Juud!


	11. Sleeping Beauty

**Chapter 11: Sleeping Beauty**

She fell to his feet and wept. Her wounded, battered heart manifested in loud sobs and spewed forth in tears. She trembled like a leaf; her small body heaved in a sea of vibrant, shiny silk.

Byakuya watched the light dance in the silk's sheen. The tightly woven fabric sparkled under the lantern's warm illumination. Deep yellows played across her orange obi and burnt sienna kimono. It was beautiful, he thought on closer inspection.

_If only she would stop crying._

He had lost patience long ago. Fatigued, he stood rigidly, fighting back the urge to rebuke her. His empathy ran shallow, and, at that moment, its spigot was bone dry. Not that he had much empathy from which to draw. His reserves were notoriously low, and, with each passing moment, what little feeling resided within him began to morph into frustration.

Despite his silent protests, her cries only grew louder. She was practically _begging _him to soothe her. To do _something_. _Anything_.

Furtively, he searched the room. His cruel indifference kept his heart locked and dark. In lieu of words, he could only muster a frustrated breath. He could only hope the cries didn't summon his aunt. He could only think of how abject Lady Nanako looked, puddled at his feet in the midst of some unflappable sorrow.

Unable to watch any longer, his gaze drifted to the window. A rich thick night enveloped the world. A thousand stars twinkled like jewels caught flame. The moon was large and full, hanging low in the sky. The evening practically called out to him. He could feel desire enervate his muscles and ease the tension in his neck. The celebration was to commence in a handful of moments-moments that were spilling forth like the tears from Nanako's cheeks.

It all felt unbearable.

She was unbearable.

His indifference was unbearable.

"Lord Byakuya!" she howled, lifting her chin. Light gleamed against her sopping cheeks. Her skin was pale except for where it was red. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot, and her hair, once so nicely quaffed, was a matted mess. A fine mixture of sweat and tears cemented stray stands of her inky tresses to her forehead and cheeks—her poor tear-tracked cheeks.

She did not cry pretty, he noted inwardly and frowned at her. It was not a conscious decision on his part. But his disapprobation was so thick, so complete, that he could not shutter his expression. He tried. For fifteen minutes, he tried. Now, it was too much effort. It depleted him, and his nerves were quickly unspooling and fraying.

"You cannot go!" she hiccuped, tangling her long thin fingers in his hakama.

He felt the pull of the fabric against his legs, but he did not move. Images flooded his brain—images of what he _should be doing_ like bending down, taking her in his arms, and comforting her. He knew the proper response, but his muscles locked, and he could feel the bile rise in his throat. He could not _force _his heart to submit.

"I love you!" she choked out. Sniffling and gasping on her intense sadness, she buried her wet face in the loose fabric of his hakama.

_Shame_, he noted mordantly. She felt _shame_ as she covered her face. His frown diminished as he stared at her. He wondered if she felt shame because she realized that she was making a spectacle of herself or because she questioned his own affections toward her. Perhaps, she was ashamed of her lack of faith in him or of her own cowardice.

Byakuya unfurled his handkerchief. "Here," he said evenly, offering her the handkerchief.

"I am so sorry, Lord Byakuya. I know you are skilled and powerful. I should have more faith in you, but all I have is this fear." She reached out with trembling fingers, past the fabric, to his wrist. Her skin was ice cold, numb almost, against his. His eyes widened at her boldness, but he remained motionless, allowing the weight of her hand to sink against his.

Inelegant movements and the rustling of fabric marked her resolve. She stood. Her eyes were teary, and her smile was broken and ragged. "Please, forgive me," she said, bowing her head.

His gaze shot over to the door. Escape lingered on the periphery, tempting him with its proximity. If he could only get her through the door, down the hall, and into the city, then his nerves could quiet. The noise of merrymaking would drown out her words. The night's darkness would conceal her bloated face and sullen eyes. The students' demonstrations would capture her attention and would allow his to wander.

Relief was only a few steps away.

His heart stopped in anticipation, and his breath caught in his lungs. Without a word, he turned toward the door. Her hand did not break from his. Her grasp only tightened.

He did not care. His stride lengthened. He would drag her out of the study if necessary. "Come," he murmured hurriedly.

She complied. Wordless, she followed him. Questions lingered in her stare but did not sound from her lips.

Briefly, he wondered if she knew that he did not reciprocate her love. How could he? He had only known her for a few _days_. Despite his aunt's failed attempts at forcing him to remember her from various events, he could not. His aunt brought out pictures, news clippings, letters from various other relatives, but recollection eluded him. Lady Nanako was a stranger to him. Forced teas, lunches, and meetings demystified her, but Byakuya was not keen on deluding himself. A committee of Kuchiki elders—Those Who Knew Better—selected her to be his mate. He had no say, and his lack of voice on the when, where, and who was beginning to eat at him. Resentment washed away his apathy. It had started gradually, but, sure enough, his heart turned icy and sharp toward his family and the courtship.

He wondered if the realization that he did not love her had dawned on her. If it chilled her heart like resentment chilled his. He wondered if it stifled the words, stole the thoughts, and silenced the tears. He wondered if she could continue to love him despite knowing that he did not return her affections.

He glimpsed her in his periphery. Shadows veiled her face, but he could see her eyes gleaming in the light. She stared at the floorboards, and she swallowed hard. She was choking back fresh tears. Her sadness, however, had morphed from pleading to contemplative.

He crossed into the darkness without sparing her a second glance. It was not until they arrived at the celebration that he acknowledged her again when he felt her arm thread through his, unifying them as a couple. She was warm, and she looked up into his face with such hesitance. Her action was a question, and she was praying that his look would be her answer.

He held his breath and clenched his jaw, and he refused to meet her gaze. Instead, he stared, dead-eyed, into the throng of people milling about, buying trinkets and chattering.

As he had hoped, the noise blotted out his thoughts and kept her words at bay. The strange customs and gewgaws for sale distracted her attention, leaving his to wander. A blur of faces and movements saturated his perception. Until, his eyes strayed to the one person that he had hoped desperately to avoid. Reflexively, he stopped. His nerves buzzed excitedly, and he went numb.

Lady Nanako took a small step before feeling his resistance. She halted on the rebound. "Lord Byakuya, do you see something to your liking?" A look of adoration smoothed the lines of her face, and her eyes searched the crowd. He could tell that she was trying to follow his gaze. His eyes flitted to the makeshift outdoor theater, and he tried to pull her forward.

He had been too slow.

"Your cousin," she said sweetly, misreading his look. "We should present ourselves to her and the new baby!" She tugged at his arm.

Before he could construct a reasonable diversion, he found himself uttering pleasantries and trying to occupy his mind. His chin pulled down, and his eyes searched the bricks lining the street.

"Lord Kuchiki," his cousin said excitedly, "it is so nice to see you out with Lady Nanako." Her words were sharp—a tacit acknowledgment of his reticence to fully embrace the relationship—but she smiled at the newly minted couple with glee. "Have you met the Vice Captain of the Fourth?"

Byakuya's posture straightened. The question managed to eviscerate what was left of his poor fraying nerves. Somewhere between the words "Vice Captain" and "Fourth" his blood had transmuted to ice water, and he was sure his heart had rattled free from his chest and lodged in his throat.

"No," Nanako's voice needled him.

"Vice Captain, Lady Nanako Anzai and, well, you already know Lord Kuchiki." Her voice dropped at his name. He wondered if she was upset with him for reasons unknown or if the rumors had reached her halls, and she was making her disapproval apparent.

Unwittingly, his eyes drifted to Hisana as if she was a magnet pulling his attention. A deep breath escaped his lungs, and his cheeks went pink. Prickles of heat nipped at his back and arms.

Her hair was as black as a raven's feathers and flowed unadorned down her shoulders. Her lips were as red as blood, and her skin was smooth and white. Not a line marked her face. No tear-trails. No swollen eyes. No pleading, pitiful glances. She just smiled. Her eyes were warm, but her lips were sharp. He had seen that smile before, when she intervened on his behalf with Gin Ichimaru. She had been so bubbly, so convincing then. It was all a feign, and Hisana loved her feigns, he mused as he stared into her blue eyes. She was good at manufacturing emotion from thin air. Better than he was.

"The Vice Captain delivered little Tomoka," his cousin gushed as she reached over to stroke the baby's head.

Byakuya followed his cousin's arm. Shocked, he stirred upon realizing that Hisana was holding the infant tenderly. How had he missed it? He admonished himself for such inattention.

Hisana's smile softened as she glanced down at the slumbering bundle. "Little Tomoka has been keeping mommy awake into the late hours," she cooed sweetly, adjusting the infant's weight in her arms. Her gaze returned to Byakuya. "Good evening, Lord Kuchiki," she said in a sing-song cadence, an octave higher than her normal speaking voice.

His expression melted as he watched her cradle the child.

"Does Lord Kuchiki have a fondness for children?" Hisana's observation was a wry one even if she had cleverly coated it in a sanguine tenor. A lopsided grin pulled a corner of her mouth, and a knowing look lit her eyes. Wordlessly, she swayed her body closer so he could examine the child nestled against her chest.

"If he has a fondness for children, he sure has a funny way of showing it," his cousin noted drily. "He was the only member of the _entire family _who did not send his regards." She winked at Lady Nanako to lessen the sting, but the words were tightly coiled, like barbed wire.

Lady Nanako beamed up at Byakuya. "I hope the Vice Captain will be kind enough to assist us with our children."

Byakuya nearly spluttered. The color drained from his cheeks, and his eyes widened. Helpless, he stared into Hisana's very amused face. Words proved to be elusive, escaping his mind before pouring into the ether.

Hisana pressed her lips together in what he was sure was a poor attempt at repressing the urge to smile at his expense. "Isane Kotetsu will be an excellent resource when the two of you are ready to start your family." Her voice was perfectly calm and gentle despite the bitterness of her implicit admission: She would not be the Vice Captain when Nanako bore children. She would be a memory. Perhaps, a footnote in the history books.

Byakuya stole her gaze and held it. Gone were the feelings of awe, adoration, horror and humiliation. All he wanted to do was be by her side. He wanted to comfort the tragic gleam catching in her eyes. But, he couldn't. There was something in the way. There was something holding him back, obstructing his desire. Unthinking, his eyes dropped to Lady Nanako, who eagerly received the baby from Hisana.

He understood Lady Nanako's intention well. A little too well. She wanted to hold the thing she thought eased his mind and soothed him. He felt a pitying pain crackle in chest as Lady Nanako shifted the baby's weight carefully in her arms. Unlike Hisana, Nanako did not appear confident holding the infant. She fussed over the alien way it felt to cradle something so tiny. Noticing her pained expression, Hisana and Byakuya's cousin lightly molded Nanako's arms and gave gentle words of encouragement.

"When it's yours, everything just makes sense," his cousin murmured, patting down the swaddling blankets. "Don't worry," she continued, offering Nanako an easy smile. "You can come _anytime _to play with little Tomoka if you need practice."

"Really?" Nanako's eyes went wide at the offer, and a look of excitement replaced her worriment.

"You and _Byakuya _are invited _anytime_."

Byakuya's gaze wandered to Hisana as she caressed the infant's head. She was checking the child's temperature. He knew because that was how she checked his temperature when he was ill. It was a slight fluttering movement, but he knew it well enough.

"The fever has lessened," Hisana noted softly, making eye contact with his cousin. "I will send over a remedy, but when you are ready to take your bath tonight, bring baby into the steamy room for a few minutes. Hopefully, that will break up some of her congestion."

His cousin nodded eagerly. "Thank you, Vice Captain."

"It is my pleasure," she said, smiling sweetly down at the child.

"Is the baby alright?" Nanako asked. Concern etched into her features as she turned to the cousin.

"It is just a cold," Hisana assured them, giving Byakuya a sidelong gaze. Her eyes were somber, but she covered her sadness with a small bittersweet smile. He knew the smile was for his sake, not given out of any genuine feeling she had. It was just another façade. Just another feign.

He shot her consoling stare, but his lips went still.

She closed her eyes and turned to the women. "I believe the students' demonstrations are beginning." She eyed the commotion outside of the theater. "I must excuse myself. It is my last duty." She bowed, deep and respectful. "Good evening Lord Kuchiki, Lady Kuchiki, and Lady Anzai. Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials. I am sure you will have many wonderful years and many lovely children." On that gentle note, she turned on her heel.

He watched her silently. His heart drummed a somber melody at her words and her graceful departure. He did not hide his yearning well, nor did he attempt to. Instead, his gaze remained locked on her until the crowd swallowed her whole. He closed his eyes as he searched for what shred of inner peace her presence had evoked.

Nanako stared up at him imploringly. Her expression fell, and her brows knitted together. Confusion darkened her eyes as she stared at Byakuya, uncomprehending.

She _knew_, but she couldn't accept it. Not then. It was too fresh. The pain was too real. "We should go, too," she said, distractedly. "Perhaps we could join the Vice Captain?" She gave Byakuya a knowing sidelong stare and a small smile.

"I don't think that is wise," his cousin piped up defensively. "Vice Captains must sit with their division captains."

Byakuya nodded. "We must sit with the Sixth," he said softly.

The color drained from his cousin's face at his words, and her eyes widened at the implication.

"The demonstrations are performed by promising six-years, correct?" Lady Nanako asked, gently handing the baby back to his cousin.

"Yes," his cousin answered, "and Vice Captains are supposed to field questions from the students and provide input on the quality of the current crop of hopefuls."

Nanako nodded her head. "I remember my brother's demonstration. He was so nervous."

"Come," Byakuya said softly, moving toward the theater. His stride was long and uninviting, but she was quick to match it. She was quicker to ask questions. So _many_ questions as the demonstrations began.

He tried. Under the discerning glare of his grandfather, he tried to muster some vague sense of companionship. But, his words rang hollow, and his gaze was cold and unfeeling.

He wondered if a cold unfeeling heart was the price for wealth and infamy. Fleetingly, he descried his grandfather. Ginrei sat regally in his captain's regalia. His piercing gaze lingered on the field. He did not like the student's conformation, Byakuya noted to himself.

"Did you attend the Spiritual Arts Academy?" Nanako's voice pierced his concentration.

"No," he answered unflinchingly. He kept his eyes trained on the field as the next student entered. She was slightly better than the previous sixth year. Her stance was open and confident where his had been narrow and uncertain.

"Is it common to enter the ranks without attending?" Her voice rose above the sounds of murmurs sparked by the student's shikai.

She knew the answer, but he obliged her. "No," he replied.

She nodded to herself. "Do you wish you had?" she asked moments later.

"No." It was a lie. Sort of. He had been teased mercilessly for his parents' decision. Mostly, the complaints sounded from Yoruichi Shihōin and Kaien Shiba, _who were ones to talk_. They had scarcely _attended _the Academy themselves. Both had jumped years, making the endeavor unlike that experienced by most students. But, he understood their argument. The manor and shroud of nobility had been isolating.

Outside the manor's gates was just as lonely, however.

Unconsciously, his gaze drifted to the Fourth's section. They were more lively than the Sixth, he observed. They sat close together and spoke with greater intimacy.

"How do you know the Vice Captain of the Fourth?" Nanako asked, astutely reading his eye-line.

He swiftly returned his attention to the demonstration. "She was a tutor," he said matter-of-factly.

"How interesting!" She smiled up at him. "Kido?"

He glimpsed Nanako out of the corner of his eye. "Healing kido." That, too, was a lie. While his father had charged Hisana with instructing him in healing kido, she had taught Byakuya offensive kido better than his tutor for offensive kido. He never took to healing, and she never fought him on his preference. She had tried to interweave healing lessons into the extemporaneous curriculum, and he learned various techniques, if only superficially.

Nanako bristled. "That sounds very intimate," she murmured to herself.

It would have been, he assumed. Healing kido and healing, more generally, required close and sustained contact. Closer contact than just about anything else.

"How long have you known her?" Lines creased Nanako's forehead, and her lips trembled as she asked the question. Her gaze averted to the ground, and her eyes were half-lidded. She did not _want _to know the answer to her question as much as she _needed _to know.

He clenched his jaw. "A few decades," he murmured.

Approximately, thirty years had passed since he first noticed Hisana donning the red academy uniform, knee-deep in medicinal flowers and trying, breathlessly, to free a small rabbit from a snare. It was a private memory of his—one that she did not share or did not recall. A year later, she had treated his injuries at the infirmary. A decade passed before their paths crossed again when his father procured her services to treat his illness. Shortly after, she was given the task of teaching Byakuya healing kido.

"How long did she instruct you?"

Nanako was torturing herself on barbed thoughts of him and the Vice Captain, and he took pity on her. "A few years," he answered, careful not to blade his words.

"You love her," Nanako whispered, chewing on her bottom lip. A piece of her withered and died under the crushing weight of the realization. She had tried to push it down, kill it, but the evidence was mounting bit by bit. She had heard the rumors. The servants spoke about the Fourth's Vice Captain in hushed excited voices when they thought they were alone. Then, there was the way Byakuya threw himself into the mission. She knew his grandfather had refused; she had lied to Byakuya over tea, saying she didn't know when she did. It had stung her when he left her alone in the manor to confront Ginrei. It had broken her heart that her pleas for him to stay fell on deaf ears. It stifled her spirit to see how fondly he regarded the Vice Captain. Hisana captivated his thoughts, bewitching him in a way that she knew she never could.

Byakuya lifted his head and turned his attention to the demonstration. Her words pierced him as well, wounding him in the process. He felt like an animal tangled in a foothold trap, and the more he tried to shake the thought, the more he suffered its consequences. He was unsure of whether it was love, admiration, or adulation he felt for Hisana.

"I don't mind," Nanako said, breathless. "I don't mind being second place to the Vice Captain. She is strong, and gentle, and beautiful. How could I compare? I don't mind. Really, as long as I am with you. I won't stand in the way. I promise." She held back her tears as she continued, "I know the laws prevent such a union—between the two of you. And that must be painful. But, if I can lessen it, I will. All I want is to be your wife and to bear your children."

Byakuya's moment of empathy quickly dissipated as the words filled his ears. He didn't know what to do, or how to react. He had not denied or affirmed her suspicions. To say _anything _now would have been damning. And, he hadn't quite sorted out his feelings on the matter. He cared about Hisana. He would protect her. He would stand with her until his dying breath. He missed her when she was gone. He found strength in her gaze, and peace in her presence. Was that love? And if it was love, how could he ever accept Nanako's offer?

Panic set in as he contemplated the deluge of questions. And, tellingly, he looked to Hisana—not Nanako or his grandfather—for the answers. Hisana, however, was blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil. She was talking to fresh-faced students and laughing politely into her sleeve.

_If she was talking to students… _

Immediately, Byakuya stood, realizing the demonstrations were over. He grabbed Lady Nanako's arm, pretending that he had only imagined her confessions. If he never acknowledged her, then it never happened. (Or so he convinced himself.) "We should go." He barely had taken a step before his muscles locked.

"Byakuya." The voice was strong, deep, and familiar.

He exhaled the breath keeping his back rigid, and, as he did, his shoulders slacked. "Captain Kuchiki," he said formally, turning to face his grandfather. He bowed politely as did Lady Nanako.

"Captain Kuchiki," she called harmoniously.

"Lady Anzai." Ginrei acknowledged her with a slight bow of his head. "I hope you enjoyed the students tonight." He sounded almost _satisfied,_ if satisfaction could have a particular sound.

She smiled. "I did, thank you. Lord Byakuya was teaching me all about the Academy and protocols."

Ginrei's gaze trailed to his grandson, who he regarded with less _satisfaction_. "Good," he said ominously.

Byakuya felt transparent under his grandfather's judicious look. His guilt was likely abundant and _clear,_ and Ginrei did not have to think too long or hard to discern its source.

Refusing to break his gaze, Ginrei lifted his head, "You are invited to dinner," he ordered rather than _suggested_. There was no choice as he was standing there, and dinner had been set for after the demonstrations. It was exactly the situation that Byakuya had tried to avoid just moments prior.

"Thank you, Captain Kuchiki." Nanako bowed graciously.

Byakuya bowed as well, but he did not speak words of gratitude. He had learned long ago never to speak falsely to his elders, and taking a meal under the penetrating gaze of his grandfather was not an endeavor for which he felt particularly grateful.

"Come," Ginrei said, leading the way.

Dinner went as expected. No major disasters or mishaps. Just biting numbness. Byakuya stared miserably into his food, and drank miserably from his sake cup. Perhaps, it had been better when Nanako had been benighted. At least, for him it had been easier. He had not been drowning in questions then, just indifference.

Nanako, however, was chirpy. She made small talk with the men around her. She was quick to laugh at their jokes, and she was surprisingly witty. There were certainly _worse _candidates for marriage.

As the dinner was winding down, he surveyed the room. Empty space abounded where there had previously been none. Kaien and Gin were talking quietly a stone's throw away. His grandfather had engaged Nanako in polite "getting-to-know-you" conversation. Ukitake, Kyōraku and Isshin were conspiring at the Thirteenth's table. Unohana was discussing some detail with Isane, Hisana's likely successor. Hisana, Miyako, and Rangiku were having a breezy conversation at the Tenth's table.

"Poor miserable Byakuya," Kaien teased, pulling back Byakuya's chair, catching him unaware. "Lady Anzai, it is a pleasure to meet you," Kaien said kindly, bowing. "I never thought I would see the day when Little Byakuya found a wife."

Nanako blushed and reciprocated Kaien's bow. "The pleasure is all mine, Vice Captain Shiba."

"Congratulations, Captain Kuchiki," Kaien said, glancing over Nanako's head to the Kuchiki elder. Again, Kaien bowed, lower and more respectful this time. "I apologize for stealing Byakuya, but—"

Ginrei interrupted with a brisk nod of his head. "Of course." There was no need to distress Nanako. Ginrei was aware of how badly she had taken the news of Byakuya's assignment. The whole House knew about her breakdown.

Grabbing Byakuya up by his collar, Kaien pulled him along, much to his objection. "We are _strategizing_," he informed the young noble with a brisk voice and a sly glance.

. . . .

Hisana shed her duties for the evening and quietly slipped away into the night. She let her feet carry her, and, as often was the case when she let her feet do the thinking, she found herself at the wandering river with her gaze fixed on the dark breakers. Moonbeams scattered across the waves, bobbing up and down, like a thousand shimmering diamonds. She crouched low at the stream's edge and dipped her hand into the inky water. Disturbed by her intrusion, a koi's tail quickly brushed her fingers as it zoomed away.

She smiled, feeling the gentle beating of the waves against her skin. The water was cold, but she did not mind. It roused her tired mind and gave her some respite. She only had a few hours before she had to report to the Second; she needed her wits to be sharp.

_'Three-o'-clock_,' she mused wearily. '_Nothing is ever easy.'_

She stared into the sky. It was alive, a twinkling mess of stars and quickly moving clouds. She swore she could stare into the night for eternity, but her body protested against such a plan. Stiff from crouching, she stood up and stretched.

_'I am getting old_,' her inner pessimist groaned inwardly. Shaking away the thought, Hisana bent at the hip and brushed the dirt from her hakama.

_'Not older. Better.'_ Again, her eyes snapped up to the firmament. A chill rushed over her and spawned a strange idea.

"Might as well," she whispered to herself. "It's not like I will ever be able to do it again." With a deep breath and even deeper concentration, she closed her eyes. Layer by layer, the world fell away until all that remained was her inner resolve.

Graceful movements called forth a growing ball of energy. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, Hisana recited a long incantation in her head as she felt the energy begin to grow. It sparked against her hands; it was cold, and it pierced her flesh. Humming the rhythm of the chant, she called upon an advanced ice spell. Feeling it build in step with her own spiritual pressure, she let out a deep breath and opened her eyes.

She let it go, directing the energy into the water. Ice quickly spread across the river until all that the eye could see was completely frozen.

Her lips split into a wide smile.

It was beautiful.

The ice glistened in the moonlight, illuminating the night a pale blue. Careful, she placed a tentative foot upon the ice. It held her weight with ease, but she took light steps just in case.

When she reached the middle of the stream, she stopped. Endorphins coursed through her, spitting electricity up and down her nervous system. She inhaled a deep breath and whirled around, sliding against the wet ice. It was a stupid wish—to see the sky from the middle of the stream. But, it was so lovely, so irresistible, so impractical; she just _had to do it._ Basking in the glow of starlight, she stared up, wide-eyed and blissful, at the moon.

Her smile widened when she felt the wind howl against her ears. She turned, knowing he would be standing at the bank. And there he was dressed simply. No noble adornments fettered his hair or swathed his neck, and, yet, he looked princely wearing only simple blue silks and moonbeams. "Lord Byakuya," she called in a dulcet tone.

He lifted his head. "I do not know this spell."

She stared into the firmament a beat longer before succumbing to the urge to join him on the bank. "I suppose you wouldn't. I don't think it is commonly used."

"Outside of freezing water," he observed wryly.

She grinned up at him. His features went still. Not impassive, just quiet. He was studying her.

"An ice Zanpakutō?" he asked, glancing down at the sword tucked in her hakama-himo. What her Zanpakutō did had become a long-running guessing game for him. She never used it during her lessons, and she never released it in front of him. But he was _convinced _it was kido-based. So far he had guessed fire, wind, water, and now ice.

She merely smiled as she pushed off the ice with her left foot. _'Wrong_,' she thought, amused.

"How is your training?" she asked with an impish grin. She knew he had achieved bankai. Now, whether she was _supposed_ to be privy to such information was another matter. Sir Sōjun had mentioned it shortly before his death. He was so proud, mentioning it in a rare moment of unfettered exuberance. She never approached Byakuya about it directly out of respect for his father.

"Well," he said stone-faced. His eyes, however, told her another story. He was pleased with himself, which meant he was in the process of mastering it.

"What are you working on?" she asked, steadying her footing as she neared the bank. She wondered if he would admit it. _'Likely not,'_ she thought to herself. If he did, he ran the risk of being pulled from the Sixth and placed elsewhere. Byakuya would not serve another squad, not while Ginrei was Captain.

"Learning Senbonzakura," he said much to her amazement. It was a half-truth, one that she would not push. She waited a few moments as she slid toward the edge of the stream. The silence, however, seemed to unnerve Byakuya, and he was quick to fill the void. "I have mastered my shikai," he said confidently.

She smiled up at him knowingly. "You should show it to me!"

He arched a brow. "Show me yours, and I might."

She smirked at his request. "Mine isn't very interesting," she admitted coyly.

"It is to me," he said.

She immediately tensed at the soft sheepish sound of his voice. A slow burn crept across her cheeks, leaving her skin red, and her heart started. "I-I-I," she stammered, unsure of how to reply. Her throat went dry, and her breath hitched in her chest. Disoriented, she pushed off the ice again, but her muscles had turned to jelly under his stare, and her foot slipped. She was certain that she was going to topple over, for her weight-bearing leg also began to falter. Her icy horror, however, calmed when she felt his hand against her arm. He was quick to steady her, and even quicker to examine her, taking in every line and contour of her delicate frame.

"I am so sorry," she said, shocked by her blundering. Her heart fluttered like a moth's wings in her chest, and her face went bright red. Trying to thread together the remaining shreds of her composure, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before daring to meet his gaze.

He stared at her with an intense but entirely inscrutable look. She wasn't sure if he thought she had lost her mind, was injured, or about to break. Pensive, she noticed that he was still gripping the tops of her arms. The twilight painted his flesh a silvery shade of white, highlighting the shape of hands. They were large and strong. Their strength, however, did not relent when she regained her equilibrium.

Perhaps her ice spell had worked a little too well. Byakuya appeared frozen in thought. He wasn't seeing her, she observed. Rather, he appeared to be swept away in the inner workings of his own thoughts. Whatever had captured his attention, held it in a vice grip.

Hisana lifted her head, and, ever so gently, she brushed her lips against his. Her warmth sank in through his mouth and quickly traveled to his heart. She watched as the spell broke. The light in his eyes returned, and he blinked. "Apologies," she began again, feeling incredibly guilty for her indulgence. He was engaged, and she had convinced herself that it was a happy union. At least, Lady Anzai seemed to be happy with thoughts of future heirs running through her head.

Hisana searched his face, praying that he had not taken offence at her boldness. He looked so pure and pristine in the soft blues of starlight. "I am," the words scorched her tongue, ready to spew forth, but before she could finish her apology, Byakuya silenced her, pressing his lips to hers. It began with great hesitation, but deepened as he pulled her close and tight against him.

She shut her eyes, letting the inky darkness of her mind take over. The noise of the wind howling and the leaves rustling faded. The chill of the air and the ice no longer bit at her cheeks and hands. All she felt was his spiritual pressure beating against hers. It was strong, stronger than she remembered. He was stronger than she remembered as he bent her head back. She relented, taking in the sweetness of sake and rice lingering in his mouth. He was inebriated. She could taste it too keenly. She could feel it in the way he held her and the way he held himself.

She felt a little intoxicated, too, but she had not a drop to drink. Boldly, she reached up and rested her hands lightly against his shoulders. She was too afraid to add any pressure, too afraid he might shatter like glass. The bond between them was slowly transforming, and, in its transformation, it was fragile.

He felt the sudden change, too. His kisses became gentler, more superficial. His grip on her loosened, and, as he pulled away, she thought she saw apprehension in his eyes. She knew apprehension flashed in her look. Self-preservation had never been one of her finer points, or his, for that matter.

Her hands slid down his arms, and he caught them before she had the chance to pull away.

"When we return," he said confidently, "you will be my wife."

He had her attention with the whole "we" and "return." She thought it was sweet, and she smiled widely at the condescending way he delivered the line. But, he knocked the breath from her lungs with the last part. She shook under the weight of his meaning. Her vision flashed, and sweet logic abandoned her, rendering her senseless.

She blinked frantically, hoping it would restart her vision. Had he forgotten about Nanako? Had he forgotten about his duties to his family? Had he forgotten that she was a peasant and that she had been marked for death?

He was inebriated. Perhaps, he was more inebriated than she had first estimated. It was just the wine and the inevitability of her demise that had short-circuited his better judgment. She knew because the combination had short-circuited her brain on several occasions.

"Lord Byakuya," she started, not sure how to finish. Her heart became still, barely beating at all. She didn't know what to say or do. Her lips tried to form words, words that never came. Instead, she offered him a conciliatory look, hoping it would suffice. It didn't. It didn't break his commanding stare. It didn't elicit a revocation. "It is forbidden," her voice was thin and soft as she forced the words from her heart to her tongue.

He did not respond, and she was still gasping for words, fighting through the emotions that came in brutal waves, crashing over her and threatening to drown her. Regret, guilt, and penitence pounded her heart, raged in her veins, and bleached her bones. If the jagged edges of emotion could cause internal hemorrhaging, then she bled.

"There are only two laws that bind nobles—treason and sedition. The rest are obeyed as a courtesy." His voice, deep and firm, washed over her, soothing her tired soul.

"What about your fiancée?" The question stung her throat, but she could not stop it from tumbling out of her mouth. She truly pitied Lady Nanako. The woman had done nothing to deserve their treachery.

He closed his eyes. Pale twilight painted his face as he lifted his head. She knew he was fighting to keep his equanimity. He pitied Lady Nanako, too, but he refused to show it. "She will find a suitable match." The words unspoken—words Hisana knew lingered in the dark spaces of implication—were: "I will see to it."

She took a small step forward and touched his face. Caressingly, she brushed a stray stand of hair from his eyes. He stole her heart with a look and broke it with equal measure. She was never going to survive, and, right then, that fact proved comforting. He would never have to live up to the reckless promise uttered in the twilight.

"I would marry you now if it meant you would abstain from this mission," he said somberly. His dark grey eyes searched hers, and he bent his head closer. "But you are too foolish."

She smiled at his insult. He was correct. She would not abandon the mission, and, perhaps, that was a foolish decision. "I am sorry," she said, running her hands through his hair. Closing her eyes, she relished the sensation of silky tresses against her skin. "I am so sorry," her voice broke, and her fingers tangled in his locks.

Dropping her head, she fought back the urge to cry. Her vision began to blur as tears welled in her eyes. She turned her head, defiantly. She had shed enough tears already, and she did not want to burden him any more than she had. "Please forgive my weakness," she murmured.

Tenderly, he eased her chin up, and he dried her tears with his thumbs. She felt his warm breath skate across her lips, a gentle reminder that he remained resolutely by her side. It was such a novel feeling, knowing that he was there and steadfast. She had spent so many years looking out for herself, coming to understand brutality, cruelty, and hardness with greater ease than kindness.

Part of her remained skeptical of his intentions, however, and that part of her forced her eyes open. That piece of her, she could never shed—a second skin that stubbornly clung to her. But, upon opening her eyes, her worst fears scattered. Far from malevolence, Byakuya studied her with a look of concern.

"Come." Taking her hand, he led her from the stream.

Unquestioningly, she followed him with heavy heart and even heavier footsteps to the Fourth's barracks. He remembered the way, much to her surprise.

Each step forward eased her troubled mind. Each step lightened her heart. Each step brought them closer.

When they reached the door to her quarters, her resolve shattered into a thousand fragments. She nearly collapsed at the sight of the field of flowers that had seemingly sprouted from the hardwood in front of her door. Well-wishers had sent the gifts—flowers, wrapped parcels, and small trinkets. She was sure the intentions were pure, but it looked like a memorial for the dead. And she was not dead _yet_.

Byakuya's instincts kicked on just in time. Adroitly, he caught her and spun her away from the sight. "I will take care of this," he assured her.

Her mind blotted out his words and looks. Her heart seized in her chest, and her body ran cold. Her neurons fired under her skin, sparking like live wires. She couldn't hold it together right then. She could barely concentrate. A tempest raged deep inside her, hounding her until she could not fight it back. Her battered muscles relented. Her breath hitched in her chest. Soon it was her vision, and then, finally, her mind submitted.

Darkness blanketed her senses, extinguishing the pain.

. . . .

She awoke in the Second. Bright sterile light seared through her mental fog. Adrenalin rushed through her, and she sprung up. It took her a few minutes to realize that she was _not _at the Fourth.

She glanced down to find small tubes tethering her to machines lining the sides of her bed. Needles, precisely inserted into her veins, drew fluids from and into her body.

"You're up," a small female with a clipboard noted. Her hands were fast at work, scribbling down notes.

Hisana blinked. She tried to introduce herself, but her throat closed. Panicked, her hands flew to her neck. Unable to pull air, she waved her arms frantically.

"Normal signs. The tests are checking your vitals," the woman said nonchalantly as if asphyxiation was part of the process.

A few seconds later, the pressure remitted, and Hisana could breathe again. "What?" she gasped, folded over her knees and struggling to fill her lungs. She had never utilized such a test at the Fourth.

"We must check your spiritual power and pressure levels. It helps us get a better estimate."

"Estimate of what?"

"Your expiration," the woman said as she focused her attention on her notes. She lifted her head, and, with her middle finger, she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "The relic depletes you at predictable intervals, provided that you refrain from engaging in any of the Spiritual Arts and you companions do the same. Knowing your baseline will help us predict how long you have to reach the 67th North Rukon District."

Hisana nodded.

"Please disrobe," the woman commanded, flinging back the privacy curtain.

Hisana's lips parted. A question was written on her face, but she suppressed it as she began to loosen her garments. Cold air skated across her neck and clavicle. She shivered, but shed her kimono all the same. It began as a tremble as the cold picked apart the locks of her muscles.

She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around her legs for warmth. It was too late. Trembling quickly turned into shaking. Violently, she shook. She could barely see by the end. "What are you injecting into that IV?" she cried, staring helplessly at the woman.

It was inescapable. Fighting the cocktail flowing through her was futile. The black curtain fell over her senses, and she fell back on the hard cot. The sound of one of her machines screaming in mechanical fury echoed in her head before she fully succumbed to the effects of the drug.

When she awoke, she was dressed. A simple white kimono tightly trapped the warmth to her body. She glanced up tiredly to see a young nurse standing over her. An eager look etched into her face. "You are strong," she told Hisana as she injected a strange blue substance into the IV push. "Relax."

Hisana's eyes began to roll back in her head, but she fought back the urge to sleep. Bleary-eyed, she turned her head to find the bed being hoisted from its frame. Her body went numb, and she was certain her lungs had stopped functioning.

"Shh," a male attendant murmured, stroking the top of her head. "Sleep."

Her eyelids began to droop, but she forced her eyes open for one last look. They were placing her in a glass case.

"This will be like taking a refreshing spiritual bath," he assured her as he closed the case.

She jerked in raw panic. '_Case? It looks more like a casket!'_ Her heart raced as she stared up through the glass. To no avail, she tried to fight against her chemical restraints. The exertion, however, proved to be her undoing, and she fell into a dreamless slumber.

. . . .

Byakuya and Kaien arrived early, and they waited silently in a small antechamber.

"Ichimaru is always late," Kaien informed Byakuya tersely.

Byakuya could tell Kaien was nervous as he watched Kaien fiddle with the badge strapped to his arm. The Vice Captain's sudden jitteriness disturbed Byakuya, pulling on the threads of doubt that loomed over his thoughts. Perhaps, the Vice Captain knew something that he did not? It was possible. Kaien seemed to have sources everywhere.

Byakuya's gaze drew to the door, and he listened intently. Two Shinigami were discussing the mission, but their voices were low and muffled. Neither sounded particularly satisfied with what was happening in _The Chamber_. Byakuya's gaze shot over to Kaien, who was examining a missive.

"What is the chamber?" Byakuya asked, politely enough.

Kaien's brows rose, and he glanced up. "The reiatsu chamber?" When recognition failed to light Byakuya's eyes, Kaien expounded, "There have been a few _problems_ since this morning," he said evenly.

"I was not informed of this," Byakuya said tensely.

Kaien frowned. "No?" the question sounded disingenuous because Kaien did not appear in the least surprised.

"No," Byakuya responded firmly. He was in no mood for condescension.

Kaien leaned back in his chair, and his lips twisted into a look of discontentment. "The transmission went out when the assignment was announced."

"What did the transmission say?" Byakuya knew what the transmission said. He had obtained a copy from the Fourth before convincing his grandfather to put him on the team.

A wry look creased Kaien's features. "When Hisana was selected, the Second issued a transmission before the one _we _received. Before the one you, no doubt, read. The transmission was meant for the Fourth's eyes only."

Byakuya's expression darkened. "How did you gain access to it?" he asked, incredulous.

"I asked," Kaien waved the question away, "It doesn't matter. All you need to know is that they have been running tests on Hisana for the last nine hours to determine her strength. They called members from the Twelfth to set up and run the tests, and members of the Fourth to make sure the Twelfth behaved _humanely_. And she isn't feeling particularly well at the moment if she is in the chamber."

Byakuya's expression morphed into shock_._ She never mentioned anything of the sort. Not a word. And he wondered why she had not confided in him.

Kaien shook his head. "Where is Ichimaru?" he groaned, turning to the door. A few silent moments passed until, as if by Kaien's will alone, the door pulled back to reveal Gin's smiling face.

"Good afternoon, Vice Captains Shiba and Kuchiki." Gin gave a shallow bow to no one in particular as he entered.

Kaien snapped around to Byakuya. His brows lowered, and he search Byakuya's arm with wide-set eyes. "Your seat was posted today?" Sure enough, the young noble donned the Sixth Division's badge on his arm. How had he missed it? Kaien wondered to himself.

Byakuya stared back, his features as inscrutable as ever.

"Vice Captain," Gin answered in his thickest of Rukon drawls, "runs in the family, I s'pose." He swished his robes out as he took a seat near Byakuya.

"Congratulations," Kaien murmured in a civil tenor before folding his arms against his chest.

"So, Miss Hisana is still in the chamber?" Gin asked. His smile widened as he threw his weight back in his chair. He knew the answer, and he knew his observation would gnaw at Byakuya.

Which it did, Kaien observed darkly. What little light shined in those slate grey eyes quickly died. How Gin knew that Hisana was in the chamber, though? Kaien chalked it up to Gin's close friendship with Rangiku, who, after a few drinks, had a tendency to become rather chatty.

"The Vice Captains are all waiting," a loud voice informed a nameless Shinigami outside the room.

"Welcome," a man said pleasantly as he drew the door back. "We are ready for the next stage of your preparations."

Kaien and Byakuya were quick to stand. Gin, however, took his sweet time and was the last to exit the small holding room. Only the sound of footfalls filled the corridor as the men followed the Second's grunt, who led them to a large cherry wood double door. The young man cleared his throat before cracking his knuckle against the wood.

"Enter."

The grunt pulled the doors open and jerked his chin in the direction of the voice. The three comrades entered and quickly fanned out, backs turned toward the doors. The light was dim. Their silhouettes lengthened across the floor and crept up the walls. The shadows amplified every movement they made. Gin, in particular, was intrigued by the way his inky likeness kept time with the gentle beating of his robes.

"Sit," Suì-Fēng commanded. She gestured to the long mahogany table running across the room.

Without hesitation, the men complied.

"No Zanpakutō. No kido. No hohō. No hakuda. You must repress your spiritual pressure. If, for any reason, you find these orders confusing, wear one of these." She snapped her fingers, and a subordinate emerged from the shadows. She tossed several thick metal bracers across the table. They were restraints, capable of stripping the wearer's abilities while worn. The Second used them on those who committed high crimes.

"It is imperative that the Fourth's Vice Captain expend no more energy than is absolutely necessary for the completion of the mission. The success of this mission depends on conserving her energy. Remember, if the relic depletes her before she reaches the King's Fire, _you _have failed. Upon her demise, you have only five minutes to fit the relic into the King's Fire's vessel. At 5 minutes 1 second, the relic begins to lose its charge. You need a _complete charge _to render the King's Fire inactive. Every release of your Zanpakutō, every use of kido, or flash-step means her reserves are drained at a greater rate.

"You only have a fortnight to complete the mission. Reconnaissance suggests that it should take nine days to reach the rebels, located in the 67th North Rukon District. We are sending four teams ahead of you to clear the area. When you have completed the task, send an aerial signal. A squadron will be waiting to clear the rebel forces." She paused to scan her audience. A small wily grin twisted her lips up. "Any questions?"

"What if we realize the mission is failing? Is there a mechanism to release her from the relic?" Kaien asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"No verified mechanism exists to release the relic from its host once it is engaged," Suì-Fēng answered curtly.

Kaien exchanged a pained look with Byakuya.

"How do we know when the relic is fully charged?" It was Gin, this time, who chimed in.

Suì-Fēng raised her head. "There is a gage on the vambrace. Once it reaches 100%, it will release, and you can remove the relic from her arm." She then turned to Byakuya, waiting for him to ask a question.

He averted his attention to the table. He knew more than enough.

Crossing her arms behind her, she surveyed the Vice Captains one last time. "If there are no more questions, you are excused. Please wait for the Vice Captain of the Fourth."

The three men were summarily ushered into yet another small antechamber, where they waited, and waited, and waited some more. The only one who even attempted idle chatter was Gin. Kaien responded out of a firmly held sense of politeness, but his responses were superficial and laconic.

Byakuya, on the other hand, remained taciturn. He sat back with arms folded in front of him and with eyes shut.

After running out of topics to discuss with Kaien, Gin shifted in his seat. "So marriage, eh?" he began, setting his sights on the reluctant noble.

"Marriage and a Vice Captainship," Kaien added, somewhat amused by the turn of events. He wasn't sure what to make of it all. He assumed Byakuya was satisfied with his appointment. He was less sure of where Byakuya stood on the arranged marriage. Yet, he watched with quiet intrigue as Gin Ichimaru pursued the question.

"When do the invitations go out?" Gin asked, tilting his head to the side.

Byakuya exhaled a small breath. Unmoved, he continued to sit with his arms folded and eyes shut. He would not dignify such an impertinent question with a response.

"So a Spring wedding?"

"Winter," Kaien noted, remembering something his wife had said.

"How appropriate," Gin murmured. His dark intonations curled around Byakuya, and he waited patiently for a reaction.

The noble, however, paid Gin no heed. He was perfectly aware of the Vice Captain's meaning. Winter meant death, and, by extension, his marriage was doomed.

Byakuya was about to rebuke Gin for his insolence, but the creaking of the door swinging back stopped him. The room quietened as Captain Unohana crossed the threshold. She appeared to be calmer than usual, which was a portentous sign.

"Good afternoon." She maintained a look of repose better than any of the captains. Blood stained the hems of her white sleeves, and her forehead glistened with sweat yet she appeared perfectly serene. "My Vice Captain is slumbering. Would it be too much to ask for one of you to rouse her?" She turned to Byakuya.

Byakuya bowed his head. "Yes, Captain."

Before Unohana had the chance to summon a support staff to lead him to the room, he was out the door. She turned back to Kaien and Gin. "Vice Captain Ichimaru," she began, gently, "could you accompany my Third Seat, Isane Kotetsu, to the Fourth? I have made provisions for your journey." Unohana was very deliberate with her words, and, while it _sounded _like a question, it was not. It was an order.

Gin shifted slightly to see the young silvery-haired Third Seat standing demurely behind the Captain with chin tucked against her neck and eyes trained on the floor. Neither Kaien nor Gin had noticed her presence at first. But there she was, quiet as a church mouse.

Once Gin and Isane departed, Unohana's gaze lifted to Kaien.

"Do I have a fancy assignment?" he asked, all too aware that Unohana was moving them into place like pieces on a chessboard. Whatever she was planning to tell him wasn't going to be good. The Fourth's secrets were never _good news_.

She smiled slightly at his question before fishing in her robes. Finding what she needed, she withdrew a small parcel wrapped in a thick animal hide. Carefully, she handed it to Kaien, holding his gaze as she did. "My Vice Captain's journey will be a taxing one. As the relic draws her vitality from her body, she will suffer immensely. Each of her bodily systems will slowly begin to fail. These items will provide her temporary relief. Use them wisely."

Kaien nodded. "Yes, Captain."

She bowed her head. "Thank you, Vice Captain. Please, show my Vice Captain mercy."

. . . .

"Halt," a member of the Second, a masked man, shouted as Byakuya approached the door. He obeyed the order half-heartedly.

"I have been sent by Captain Unohana," he replied.

Checking the badge, the guard straightened before moving to the side. "Forgive me, Vice Captain Kuchiki."

Byakuya opened the door and crossed into the room. He steeled his mind and heart as he surveyed the area. It was small, sterile, and painfully bright—more suitable for the Fourth or Twelfth than the Second.

Shelves of strange liquids and implements lined the walls, and machines clicked, beeped, and hissed on the periphery. But it was the middle of the room that grabbed ahold of his attention and refused to let go.

Situated in the middle of the floor, Hisana slumbered in a glass case. It was a reiatsu chamber. He remembered seeing similar devices at the Fourth, but the design was startling. Slowly, he forced himself forward, and he peered inside.

Hisana was so painfully small and fragile inside that glass casket. She looked shrunken. Her skin was as pale as the new fallen snow, and it tightly spanned the curvature of her cheek, hollowing right under the bone. Her hair, once so lustrous, seemed dull splayed on the pillow, and her graceful hands, ever eager to soothe the weak and infirm, rested motionless on her chest.

Had she always been so delicate, so frail? She was petite, true, standing at just a hair over 145 centimeters, but, when she stood next to him, she seemed strong, vibrant, and unquestioningly alive.

She was not unquestioningly alive then. Her vitality was bleeding out of her body right before his eyes, and he could feel her reiatsu begin to flicker against his.

She looked like a beautiful corpse, so pale and fragile laying there with her fingers interlaced on her breast. Fear percolated in the pit of stomach as he stared at her lifeless form. Was this her fate? Could he stop the wheel from turning? And could he protect her, knowing that if all went as planned that her fate was to be nothing more than a beautiful corpse?

His muscles trembled, and he strained to compose himself. It was no use. His pulse quickened until all he could hear was the sound of his blood rushing in his ears, and he shook as if encased in ice. Apprehensively, his fingers felt for the casket's latches. The hard metal mechanism relented as he turned it back.

The hinges hissed as the glass top rolled back.

The noise did not rouse her. His presence went unnoticed. Even when he released his spiritual pressure, she remained perfectly still.

Reflexively, Byakuya took her hand in his. She was cold. Too cold.

"Hisana?" Her name was a question, and he searched her face, praying for an answer.

Cruel stillness.

"Hisana?" he tried again.

Again, his voice could not pierce her slumber.

Anxiously, he clasped her hand in both of his, hoping that his warmth would melt the eternal winter that had frozen her in place. Several long minutes drummed by. Nothing. She went unchanged, unmoved. _Dead._

"Please, Hisana, awaken," he commanded softly. His brows furrowed, and his eyes widened. "Please." Desperate, he leaned down and kissed her on the head. "Hisana," he repeated, staring longingly into her face.

Slowly, her eyes opened. "Lord Kuchiki?" she murmured, feeling his presence. She turned her head to the sound of his voice. When her eyes met his, a soft smile lengthened her lips. "You're here." She watched him intently for a few long moments. "Thank you," she said, squeezing his hand.

Her attention trailed down to his arm, stopping at the wooden badge. Her smile faded as her gaze lingered on the symbols. Instinctively, she reached out and traced the outline of the camellia. Her touch was feather-light but probing nonetheless. "Are you ready to protect Soul Society, Vice Captain?" she asked him at length.

"Yes," he said, "to the end."

* * *

**Author's Notes: **So sorry about the length! I thought about breaking it up, but the natural break points left little to be desired from my POV. I tried to be even-handed with my treatment of Lady N, which I thought would be a nice change of pace since it is easy to dislike the woman bearing the family's seal of approval. I hope you enjoyed! As always, thank you for reading and reviewing!

**Sunev.31:** Indeed, Byakuya made a very rash contract to get his way. I have a few thoughts on how he can negotiate around the terms of agreement. Thank you so much for reading!

**Torianime246:** Thanks so much for reading! Yes, the aunt should really keep to herself. I hope to explore her motivations later down the road.

**Nosono Takako: **Aw, thanks! I really struggle with whether to show more or less. This chapter, for instance, I had hoped to explore a little more, but, then, the scenes just wouldn't conform to my expectations. Thanks again for reading!

**Rose Attack:** Hopefully, I got to your latter question (about 30 years). The timeline in Bleach is a little sketch from what I recall. Assuming that Rukia is a reliable narrator (a big assumption), she has been alive for 150 years. Byakuya finds Rukia about 49 years prior to the start of the storyline, which would mean that Hisana was alive for about 100 years in soul society. Working backwards, this story would take place approximately 56 years before the start of Bleach proper. (I hope that makes some sense. Forgive me if the math is off.) Thanks so much for reading!


	12. The War Room

**Chapter 12: The War Room **

The flame gnawed on the last threads of the worn wick. The once effulgent yellow light darkened and attenuated until only an ember remained. A sad little spark snapped at the last bit of cotton before dying.

Hisana peeled open the lantern's miniature door and replaced the candle. Plucking a matchstick from a box, she flicked her wrist and struck the match's head against a piece of sandpaper. Carefully, she guided the nascent flame to the candle, and, within a few moments, the cotton wick caught fire.

A plume of pungent-smelling phosphorous infused the stale air. Helplessly, Hisana waved her arm through the grey cloud. It was futile, she groused to herself. But, at least, she _felt _like she had accomplished something even if that something was mindlessly flinging her arm back and forth.

Somewhere in the midst of her graceless motions, she glimpsed Kaien in the corner of her eye. Despite the warm lantern light, stubborn shade continued to dance across Kaien's determined visage, keeping time with the flame's playful flickering. Dark shadows hooded his eyes as he scoured the map of Soul Society, exaggerating his already tense expression.

He had been hunched over that weathered paper for the better part of an hour, Hisana noted to herself, feeling a pang of pity.

He was lost—tangled in thoughts of battle strategy and perspicacious designs. She knew because, days prior, she had been similarly occupied.

Silently, she lowered her head and prayed that Kaien could unravel the secrets locked in the map's parchment better than she had.

Her gaze drifted to the floor. A strong sense of hopelessness began to eat at her consciousness. Tenacity, however, distracted her. _'Where are the others?'_ an intrepid voice sounded in her head. She crossed her arms in front of her and turned toward the door. She and Kaien were the only souls in what felt like miles. The War Room was soundproofed; thick stony walls and concrete kept the life beyond that room at bay.

Gin had gone to the Fifth to "tie up loose ends," whatever_ that _meant. Ichimaru's voice had been insinuatingly dark as had been his look. His oily words conjured a lurid picture of him tying nooses and stringing up intransigent subordinates.

She shuddered at the thought then, and, again, as his words emerged in her head and echoed in her ears.

Byakuya had disappeared shortly after walking her from the reiatsu chamber to the antechamber. No reason. No explanation. She did not recall _when _it happened. She turned back, and he was gone.

Kaien had been polite enough to escort her to the Fourth, where she quickly changed and packed provisions for the long journey.

"Almost five districts a day," Kaien murmured to himself, tracing a line from Seireitei to the 67th Rukon district. His eyes narrowed as he studied the lines marking the boundaries of each district. Hisana could almost see the thoughts spinning in his head; he was in the midst of calculating solutions that only spawned more problems.

_Questions that only begged more questions_.

A thousand yard stare glazed his eyes, and she knew he was lost in the vicious maze of "what ifs." Not even Kaien's astute mind could see into the future no matter how hard he tried.

Taking mercy on his poor wracked brain, Hisana quirked a brow and said, in her drollest tone, "Five districts, eh?" She smirked at him, and her smirk seemed to exclaim, '_Only five districts? Who are we kidding?' _

And, who _were _they kidding?

Five districts a day on foot with no flash-step was going to be _brutal_, and the difficulty of traversing the land would only increase as they advanced into Rukongai. The districts became more sprawling toward the 80th, the earth grew less forgiving, and the populace more bloodthirsty and ravenous. Navigating the first 40 districts would be relatively easy. The last 27? That would test their courage, wits, and skill.

Kaien inclined his head. A touch of humanity dimmed the intensity illuminating his eyes and smoothed the bend in his brow. "Easy, right?" he said—his voice low and sardonic.

She smiled, hoping the gesture would warm her heart and unravel the melancholia that permeated her brain. It did not. Her stubborn emotions continued to pluck a sad chord on her heartstrings.

Breaking his gaze, Kaien turned to the empty table and asked, "Where are the others?"

"I don't know." She surveyed the room with a quick glance. _'Good question.' _At least two hours had passed in that dark chamber. Gin could have tied his _loose ends_ into Gordian knots by then.

_'Byakuya…_' Her heart sank, and her jaw clenched. She didn't know what to make of his sudden disappearance.

"Let's go to the gate," Kaien murmured more so to himself than to her. "They will figure it out." His voice dipped an octave on the "they," as did the corners of his lips.

Hisana shook her head. "I have to wait." Her voice was thin and faint, broken almost, as she spoke, but her features refused to reveal the maelstrom that churned deep in the pit of her stomach.

Kaien blinked, uncomprehending her meaning. _'What does that mean?_' seemingly flashed across his face right before realization came plummeting down on him like an anvil to the head.

_How could he have been so preoccupied? _Of course, she could not leave just then. She had not yet received the vambrace.

Hisana shivered imperceptibly under his gaze, sensing the light of recognition spark in his brain.

She had only a handful of moments left as a free woman. Seconds, heavy and cruel, ticked by, and, with each pass of the pendulum, Hisana became increasingly aware of her own mortality. She knew the end was closing in on her. Fate's dark fingers were reaching for her soul, and she was powerless to stop it.

"You nervous?" Kaien asked, astutely reading her expression.

With a shake of her head, Hisana rinsed the grief from her face. "I am well." Her words, tremulous and thready, sank in the air.

_Not that her feelings mattered_.

She could have spun a lovely response and sported the most radiant of smiles, and her companion would have pierced her veil of lies with a single glance. Kaien had a nasty ability of stripping the artifice from her façade. The diplomacy that she brandished like a weapon shattered against his penetrating stare. He saw a lot more than he was willing to admit, but he was polite enough to bite his tongue and swallow his words for the sake of her dignity.

"So, what if that relic rejects you?" his tone was surprisingly conversational, catching her off guard.

She blinked, and the light in her eyes went broadcast and diffuse. She had no idea how to respond. What had he meant to convey with that question? "Oh?" she managed, confused.

Kaien's brows rose. "Yeah. Maybe the relic is volatile?" he reasoned as he leaned his hip against the table and folded his arms tightly across his chest.

Her lips split and stretched into a smile. "Maybe it is." The idea teased her, brightening her mood with its whimsy. "I guess you three will be escorting another healer, then," she said with a wolfish grin.

Kaien chuckled. "I see how it is," he began, pretending to sound hurt, "_You _get the pass."

"I suppose that is only fair," she retorted slyly, "The preparations, themselves, have shaved _millennia _off my life."

Fashioning a look of righteous indignation, Kaien quickly snapped out, "So you are saying you _earned _your reprieve, and _we _have not?"

She lifted her arm to shield her broad smile with her sleeve, but she nodded her reply. "I think that is what I just said."

He gave a slow headshake of disapproval. "I see how it is. Cast us to the wolves, then."

_Crash._

The sound of the door slamming against the wall cut their through their badinage, startling both Hisana and Kaien. "Vice Captain of the Fourth, come!" The voice was sharp and booming, like a thunderclap, and it resonated from the Second's Vice Captain.

"Yes," Hisana said, bowing politely.

For a moment, she forgot what was next. Her legs hesitated, and her heart went jittery inside her chest. Frozen, she stared at the Second's Vice Captain, looking for answers. That proved to be less than effective for he stared vacuously back at her. _'Move,'_ her inner voice commanded her, and she obeyed, taking small apprehensive steps toward the door.

Just before reaching the threshold, she turned to look back at Kaien. The white light emanating from the corridor cast a blinding halo around her small form. "Thank you, Vice Captain Shiba," she murmured and bowed low.

His kind words had offered her respite from the storm raging in her head. Silently, her heart filled with gratitude, and she wished that she could find a way to repay him for his kindness.

Kaien watched her departure with equal measures of horror and disbelief. He knew what was going to happen next. He had prepared for the mission, trained futilely to ensure its success, but it felt surreal to watch her leave, knowing that soon she would return transformed. _Incomplete. Dying_.

Instinctively, he turned toward the parcel Unohana had offered him. It lay hidden in his own supplies. Deep in the bottom of his bag. Deep where no one but he could find it. It was a dark secret—one that would be unveiled only when the timing was right.

"Good afternoon, Vice Captain Shiba," this time it was a woman's small voice pulling at the strings of his mind and shattering his concentration, "please, follow me."

He crossed the floor to the door. "Where are we going?" he asked, bracing himself for her reply.

She responded with a cryptic, "To meet with the others."

The questions flashing across his visage were answered when she led him to a small chamber. It was small and sterile—like all the other rooms. Upon crossing the threshold, however, Kaien stopped short. Gin Ichimaru stood a few meters away.

"Good afternoon, Vice Captain Shiba!" Gin greeted through his eldritch grin.

Kaien nodded his head and reciprocated the pleasantry, "Good afternoon, Vice Captain Ichimaru." The words may have filled his mouth, but they did not reach his heart, and they did not warm his countenance.

Gin turned to the nameless female Shinigami. "So we're gonna _watch_?" While Gin fashioned the words in the form of a question, Kaien was sure he had meant it to be a declaration. The Fifth's Vice Captain sounded too delighted at the prospect of watching the relic synchronize with its host.

"Indeed!" If possible, Gin's perverse enthusiasm was quickly matched if not bested.

Kaien turned to find the Captain of the Twelfth hovering outside the door. "Such a rare treat, you should feel _privileged_," he added as he and several of his subordinates descended upon the room like a pack of vicious wolves.

Kaien had a sinking feeling that the Twelfth's presence from earlier in the day signaled more than mere duty. Mayuri was a ruthlessly enterprising individual; he would not spare his squad members out of a sense of _obligation_, but he would send his men if he thought it meant he could extract _data_.

Kaien's lips sloped down at the thought of Hisana as a mere data point. No wonder Byakuya had conveniently slipped away. Kaien's expression hardened at the mere thought of Byakuya, who was so oft to know convenient details and bail when the situation took a turn for the worse.

_'Brat,'_ Kaien thought ruefully to himself.

"Now, now, now," Mayuri called in a high-pitched whine, "we have all the data from the machines collected and sent back to the Twelfth?"

His Vice Captain piped up with an obsequious, "Yes, Captain."

"Good," he said before flying off into some strange biomedical jargon that Kaien could hardly follow even if he had been of a mind to understand.

Blocking out Mayuri's psychobabble, Kaien trained his gaze on the door, wondering whether Byakuya was going to make an appearance. _'Self-indulgent brat,'_ he sighed. Perhaps his sudden anger—honed from years of witnessing the young noble's century-long reign of self-entitled, reckless conceit—was irrational, but Kaien felt true animosity toward the newly anointed Vice Captain. _'Why isn't Byakuya here?' _he wondered. Gin Ichimaru was there. He was there. So, where in the hell was the better-than-thou, captious-tongued scion of the ancient noble family?

Kaien's mind lingered on the question, scrutinizing every syllable and character, until indignation gave way to fuming and fuming turned into….

The roar of unoiled hinges tore through room, interrupting Kaien's internal harangue, Mayuri's clipped orders, and Gin's perpetual smile. Seemingly and all at once, heads snapped to the side and eyes fixed on the large double doors.

"How _exciting_," Gin stated drily as the door swung back to reveal the captains and their subordinates.

. . . .

"Are you certain this is legal?"

Byakuya ignored the servant's question. His thoughts and hands were preoccupied with other, _more important_ matters, and, he had already done the mental gymnastics necessary to overcome the legal hurdles, but, to be frank, n_o_, he was not certain that what he was doing was legal, strictly speaking. In fact, if pressed to wager a guess, he would have bet a sizable portion of his personal finances on the fact that what he was doing was very much against some reading of some rule written in some book some many years ago. But, any attempt to apply those rules, he was convinced, would have amounted to mere _obiter dictum_. Nothing applied _directly _to the facts of the case at hand. Of this, he was _certain_. He was prepared to argue his point in front of the Central 46 if need be.

Despite the servant's question (which he repeated at varying intervals) and the sinking feeling that what he was doing was _wrong_, Byakuya continued to rummage through millennia worth of priceless arcana housed in the Shihōin estate.

He had spent considerable effort to gain access to the Shihōin compound, and that was the _easy _part. Once inside the estate, Byakuya had to navigate the manor's labyrinthine corridors. His reward? A highly complex seal.

He was not turning back _now_.

"Sir, the hour grows dark. Are you sure you can spare the time?" the servant's voice, rich and refined, rustled in Byakuya's ears, needling him. Byakuya could tell the wizened man was becoming increasingly concerned with Byakuya's purpose, but he would not submit to idle implications.

Undeterred, Byakuya withdrew a small parcel, hidden in the back of a shelf. "Just a few more moments," he murmured.

. . . .

Hisana waited in an uncomfortable steel-framed chair. She felt so small and feeble in the room. So many questions rang through her mind. And, if it wasn't questions keeping her on edge, it was the excruciating pain rattling around her bones, licking at her muscles, and searing her fragile nerves. Pain besieged her, stole her breath, and stopped her heart.

With each stroke of the clock's secondhand, it became increasingly harder for her to sit there, waiting for her fate to be sealed. She felt like an animal captured in a cleverly designed snare, helpless to do anything but struggling nonetheless.

When the door swung back, however, her back went ramrod straight, and she was sure her heart had dislodged from her chest and flew into her throat. All she could hear was the sound of blood rushing through her ears. The _whooshing noise_ obscured the foot soldier's voice, but she understood the order all the same. Immediately, she jumped to her feet and stepped across the threshold, only a step off the unseated officer's pace.

Entering the next chamber, Hisana halted. Her muscles locked her knees before her brain had the chance to catch up. Horror sank her heart and burned her skin as if a pyre had been set aflame beneath her flesh. She had prepared herself for the pain, shock, and fear of synchronization to the relic. She, however, had _not_ anticipated an _audience_.

Yet, there they were. The Captains and Vice Captains were standing in the usual configuration. The odds and evens faced one another. Kaien, Gin, and Byakuya stood behind their respective captains. All appeared appropriately sober except for Gin, who was smiling.

Hisana's eyes went to Byakuya first. It was instinctual, muscle memory to turn to him.

He stared back at her. His patented expression of apathy had broken. When, exactly? She did not know. She saw the shattered pieces of his noble indifference. Around the mask's sharp fractured edges, there was a raw look of worry. Concern pooled in his grey eyes, hollowed his cheeks, and creased his brow. His muscles tightened; his jaw clenched; and, his body shifted forward stiffly. He looked ready to spring forward at any moment, but his mental restraints held fast.

Her lips quivered, and her heart seized in her chest. A could _thunk _sent ripples across her body. She felt so useless, so impotent. He was too far away. Too far beyond her grasp.

Unable to muster a gentle look to assuage his conflicted mind, her gaze quickly diverted to Kaien, who looked no better. An uneasy expression colored his features and radiated from his blue eyes. He did not want to be there, and he certainly did not want to be among an _audience_ to witness her weakest hour. He shifted his weight from one leg to another as a silent protest.

"Vice Captain Hisana," the woman's soft voice pulled her attention before she had the chance to find Gin Ichimaru in the sea of black and white uniforms.

Turning to the sound of the voice, Hisana's eyes met an unfamiliar face. The woman, who stood in front of the golden case that housed the vambrace, did not don the standard Shihakushō. No, she was not a Shinigami, Hisana quickly realized. She was a noblewoman, and, judging from the kamon on her breast, she hailed from the Shihōin clan.

Gracefully, the woman unclasped the golden case and lifted the top. Her hands dipped into the box, and she withdrew the relic. She extended her unburdened hand to Hisana. "Vice Captain," she said softly, beseeching her to comply with a gentle look.

Soundlessly, Hisana lifted her arm, tilting it back so that the sleeve of her kimono fell back. Her arm was delicate and small. The dim overhead light shimmered against her milky flesh.

The noblewoman gently wrapped her fingers around Hisana's wrist and turned her arm up, revealing the tender inside of her forearm. "I will introduce the relic," the woman said resolutely as she brought the vambrace closer.

Nearing Hisana's arm, the instrument immediately sprang to life with a sharp hiss. Its piercers rotated in small circular motions just as they had when Hisana first encountered the peculiar device.

"The relic reacts to the healer," the noblewoman explained as if she was a magician who was preparing the audience for an illusion. "I will now fasten the relic to the healer."

Hisana tensed. It was instinctual but instant. Her heart throbbed inside her chest, and adrenalin saturated her bloodstream before imbuing her tired muscles. She turned her head and winced as soon as she felt the cold metal edges of the vambrace graze her skin. Her stomach tightened, and her eyes snapped open the moment the thick piercers penetrated her arm.

The pain was blinding. Darkness blanketed her eyes, and her breath hitched, cold, in her chest. It felt as if her body had been set ablaze. Her blood boiled in her veins, searing her skin and organs. Her neurons screamed out, sending signals of agony to her brain. She braced herself, fighting through the disequilibrium that tugged at her center of gravity. Gracelessly, she took a quick step forward, sparing her a fall to her knee. Her rebounding foot caught her, but her muscles threatened to buckle at any moment. She felt leaden and weak. She felt stripped to the bone. She felt _worthless_.

Byakuya started the moment he saw her struggle, but Ginrei's cool stare shackled Byakuya's eagerness, staying him. Byakuya's wild gaze cried out to Hisana, but she was nonresponsive. She stared ahead, unseeingly.

Satisfied with his grandson's compliance, Ginrei's back straightened, and he lifted his head. His blue eyes cleared until nothing emanated from his gaze. No reproachful scorn. No censoriousness. No anger. Just a piercing all-seeing stare.

Hisana continued to struggle to retain her composure. With open frantic eyes, she searched to find her sight, but the instrument had thrown her into such inky depths that no light dared to spark in her field of vision. Agony, fresh and mounting, painted her mind's inner landscape in shades of blacks and greys. The darkness swirled and crashed; its cold grasp enveloped her arm, and it pulled her down. She couldn't fight the darkness, and she could not break its disorienting clasp on her. Its grip was too tight, too biting, too powerful. It cut the strings of her nerves, severed her tendons, and sliced through her muscles.

She faltered before breaking completely.

Hisana's descent was short-lived. She never met the cold harsh floor. She never felt the sting of gravity. A quick foot and steady arm spared her from the impact.

Ginrei's icy tethers had been easy enough to break, and, once the links shattered, Byakuya was across the floor and cradling her tenderly against his chest. In a swift unbroken motion, he swept her up and stood.

She was so fragile—so painfully weightless—in his arms. Her body was brittle, like dried wood, and the vitality that coursed through her began to subside. Drop by drop, he could _feel _each and every ounce of reiatsu that she bled, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

It had been a long time since he so plainly expressed his grief. But, then, in that chamber and before the council of captains, the thick walls that he devised to shield his feelings began to disintegrate until only ashy remnants remained. Lugubriously, he found his nerve, his repose, and he glanced up into the faceless mass assembled in the room. Faceless except for one. The one soul that his mind, in its sorrow, sought out and unveiled—his own flesh and blood.

It had been a _mistake_.

Ginrei watched Byakuya with great displeasure. His gaze hardened, and the fluttering of his ivory-colored captain's robe signaled his contempt for Byakuya's actions loud and clear. If there had been time or if they had been afforded privacy, Ginrei would have excoriated his grandson for his reckless abandon. It was unbecoming for a noble to show emotions or affections in the public sphere. It was unbecoming of a Shinigami to _disobey_ his superior's implicit commands. But, it wasn't _just _Byakuya's excessive effusiveness that goaded Ginrei. That was bad enough, and, that, he could forgive; it could be written off as youthful callow. It was the _source_ of Byakuya's overt affections that truly drew Ginrei's ire. Byakuya had made a contract—a _promise_, and he had received a sizable consideration in return for his word. He was engaged to an _appropriate _woman, true, but he was not disposed. Ginrei wanted him _disposed_. The contract demanded it.

Byakuya's well practiced indifference washed away all but the silvery gleam in his eye. He knew _exactly _what his grandfather thought of him in that instant, and, for a heartbeat, he did not _care_. He was willful. He always had been; he always would be. No matter how much he ignored the fire burning in his heart, it would continue to burn. It was his nature—the same nature that poked him like a hot iron into sparing her an unwarranted disgrace. He refused to let her crumble to the floor in a heap. She deserved more. Her sacrifice was great, and she deserved his respect and consideration.

She deserved so much more, he thought somberly to himself as he peered down at her.

Her skin went pallor. The color drained from her cheeks, and the life faded from her countenance. She was motionless, seemingly frozen in time.

Oblivious to the sudden commotion, the Shihōin clan member read a small gauge affixed to the side of the brace's golden container. "The synchronization has begun," she stated, her voice clear and disaffected. Her gaze was glued to the small black pointer as it swung to numbers. "10%," she said. A few tense moments passed before her voice cut through the stifling silence, "20%."

Feeling the presence of another, Byakuya lifted his head to find Kaien standing at his side. Gin was slower to emerge from his position behind Aizen. Standing as a unified front, the three waited.

Kaien bent his head toward Hisana. Her reiatsu had disappeared, and she rested motionless. Not a single muscle contacted. Not even to draw breath.

"50%."

"Is she breathing?" Kaien asked, his question low and clipped. Worry clouded his face, creasing his forehead and darkening his eyes.

Byakuya did not answer. He _couldn't _answer. The words carved into his brain, his terribly logical brain, did not find their way to his tongue. His chest squelched them. His throat tightened and parched, ensuring they would never emerge. The words, however, ricocheted in his chest, slicing his heart and penetrating his veins. The words may not have escaped his lips, but he felt their weight acutely.

She _wasn't _breathing. Everything went static inside her. Her chest was quiet. Her heart stopped its sweet beating. Her lungs did not expand or deflate in her tiny chest. Panic washed over him, infusing every fiber of his being.

"77%."

Kaien's gaze did not break from Byakuya's troubled expression. _She wasn't alive._ The conclusion chilled Kaien. What if she was lost forever? Right then? What would they do? What _could_ they do? Kaien contemplated the consequence of her death. To have the dark grasp of death greedily crush their hope would have been _devastating_.

"86%."

Byakuya trembled. The slight wavering of his chest was imperceptible to most, but not to Kaien. He saw the regal lord quake; Byakuya's fault lines were precise and hidden, but grief triggered them. Kaien blinked, hoping that his eyes had betrayed him, praying that it was all just an illusion.

It wasn't.

"93%."

Byakuya adjusted Hisana's weight in his arms. She was as light as a child. Too light, in fact. His arms were prepared for a weight twenty times her size. Each muscle locked in rigid tension, ready to brace against buckling, but, even after realizing that she could weigh no more than 70 pounds dripping weight, the fibers in his arms did not relax. Nothing in his body _relaxed_.

"Full synchronization. The host is stabilizing."

Hisana's eyelids fluttered open. Her once grey cheeks began to pinken as she gasped her first breath in _minutes_. With each inhalation, she attempted to draw the air deeper into her empty lungs. The heavy darkness lifted from her eyes, and she blinked, remembering what it was like to _see_. Her eyes lifted to meet Byakuya's gaze. She caught a glimmer of relief light his eyes, and she smiled. "Lord Kuchiki," she said, reverting to the familiar title.

He lowered his head to give them more privacy. "Do you think you can stand?" his voice, a ragged low whisper, warmed the shell of her ear.

She closed her eyes, feeling for the buckles of her restraints. "Yes," she replied.

As if she was made of thin glass, Byakuya lowered her. Her feet met the floor, but her body remained fully supported. Slowly, she found her balance and then her strength. "Thank you," she said softly.

"The relic draws vitality from the Vice Captain," the noblewoman informed the group.

Reflexively, Hisana's thin fingers traveled across the soft skin of her hand and up to the brace attached to her left arm. Her whole arm pulsated, releasing a new batch of pain with each pulse. Pushing down the suffocating burning, she ran her fingertips under her sleeve. She searched the metal, committing each protuberance and depression to memory. A gauge was embedded deep into the relic's metal, and Hisana examined it. Quarters—E, ¼, ½, ¾, F—marked the meter's face, stark white ink against a black background. The pointer, small and red, lingered over the E.

She wondered how long it would take it to begin its ominous ascent.

Catching Byakuya's, Kaien's, and Gin's gazes flicker to the relic, Hisana startled and dropped her arm to her side. The sleeve of her kimono slipped over the golden brace, obscuring its hideous gilded design from their eyes.

"I trust you have collected your provisions," Captain-Commander Yamamoto stated, his voice clear and booming overhead.

The four travelers exchanged dark gazes.

"Very well," Yamamoto growled, "the mission shall commence."

Unified, the four stood before the council of captains, ready, willing, and able.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Thanks so much for reading! Hopefully, the foursome will start their journey in the next chapter. (About time...I would think.) It should be interesting to write and, hopefully, to read.

**Sky1011:** Aw! Thank you so much! I was re-watching, re-reading the older arcs of the series, and I tried to capture the parts that I liked best in this story.

**Sunev.31:** Exactly! I was really hoping to contrast Byakuya's apathy toward Lady N's sadness with his empathy toward Hisana's feelings. I have some ideas in mind with regard to the conflicting promises Byakuya has made in the prior chapters. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing!

**Rose Attack:** Great! Hopefully, this chapter starts to lay out his efforts to find a solution to the current issue with the relic. I feel that Lady N is a rather tragic character. She's not quite conniving and willful enough to be detestable, but she isn't a noble-minded character either.

**Nosono Takako:** Thanks so much! Yes, there is the issue of Gin, which is rather purposeful. (I mean, she picks Byakuya and Kaien, which makes sense since they are both classical hero-types, and then she picks _Gin_...) I hope to start to unravel his purposes (both his own motivations and hers for selecting him) soon.


End file.
